





COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 





























LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 






“ ‘you see it"s more than a statue to me.’ ” — Page 8 




LITTLE PIERRE 
AND BIG PETER 


BY 

RUTH OGDEN 

[MRS. CHARLES W. IDE] 


Author of “Loyal Little Red Coat,” “A Little Queen of Hearts’* 
“Courage,” “Little Homespun,” etc. 


9 cLe^ 

ll 


cB-ta "»vv» , c. uj. ydju. 


WITH FIVE COLORED ILLUSTRATIONS BY 

MARIA L. KIRK 



NEW YORK 

FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 






Copyright, 1915, hy 
Frederick A. Stokes Company 

All rights reserved, including that of 
translation into foreign languages 



AUG 20 1915 


©aA4l ! 1^0 

tc-c y 


TO FOSTER, Jr. 


In inscribing this little work to you 
I consult my heart. 


t 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 


I. 

Pierre 

. 

. i 

11 . 

Hilaire and Pierre . 


. 14 

III. 

Peter and Some Other People 


. 33 

IV. 

Two OF A Kind 


. 51 

V. 

The Friendship Grows . 


. 69 

VI. 

A Fellow Traveller 


• 

VII. 

Off for the Mer de Glace . 


• 97 

VIII. 

Colette 


. 125 

IX. 

Peter Waits on a Customer . 


. 138 

X. 

Pierre Makes a Formidable Call 


. 149 

XL 

Madame Conrad Has a Party 


. 172 

XII. 

In Marching Order 


. 182 

XIII. 

A Dangerous Ride . 


. 198 

XIV. 

“Alive, That’s the Wonder of It” 

. 214 

XV. 

In Any Case Try to Signal . 


. 234 

XVI. 

“Till the Cure Comes to” 


. 242 

XVII. 

Important Plans . 


. 251 

XVIII. 

A Royal Welcome . 


. 261 

XIX. 

“And That’s the Glory of You” 


. 280 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

XX. Pierre Decides . . . . 

XXL The Other One . . . . 

XXII. The Chateau de la Roche du Roi . 
XXIII. The Unexpected . . . . 

XXIV. Going Home 


. 290 

. 309 
. 325 

. 337 
. 353 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


“ ‘ You see it^s more than a statue to me* ” 


Frontispiece 

PAGE 


/ 


“Pierre sat with idle hands. Deep thinking does not 
lend itself to the making of boutonnieres 

“ ‘ But what are you doing in Chamonix ? * ** 


28 





“Oh! how cruel of them to have sent that joyful signal!** 238 
“ ‘ What*s the most wonderful thing that could happen 


tome?*** 350 









LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 





















LITTLE PIERRE AND 
BIG PETER 


CHAPTER FIRST 

PIERRE 

A glorious gift is Prudence; 

And they are useful friends 
Who never make beginnings 
Till they can see the ends; 

But give us now and then a man, 

That we may make him king 
Just to scorn the consequence. 

And just to do the thing. 

— Anonymous. 


I F anyone had asked Pierre who were his best 
friends in Chamonix he would have replied in- 
stantly: “The Doctor and Jacques Balmat.” It did not 
signify in the least that they had been far ahead of 
him in getting into the world and out of it. Time is 
a dead letter where friendship is concerned. To be 
sure, he only knew that they were great friends of his. 
He could never have any proof that he was a great 
friend of theirs. But that did not trouble him either. 
He certainly was as much their friend as anybody 


2 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


living; more than anybody, possibly, by right of his 
loyal devotion. Nor did it trouble him that, although 
he sometimes spoke to them, they never made audible 
answer. They did answer him in their own way, how- 
ever, and a very convincing way he thought it. Often 
when he had something important to decide he would 
betake himself to their company, and at times he would 
seek them out just for the pleasure of looking at them. 
At first, when the villagers saw him seated with folded 
arms opposite the statue of the two men, gazing at 
them with all his soul in his two dark eyes, they would 
question: “Is that little Pierre a fool?” But they did 
not question long, for, of all sane, able-bodied little 
fellows, Pierre was perhaps the sanest. So his friend- 
ship soon became an accepted fact, and no one won- 
dered at all to find him in the company of Jacques and 
the Doctor. People would sometimes even go a few 
steps out of their way rather than seem to intrude or 
run the risk of disturbing him. 

Not so Mademoiselle Helene Avery one bright May 
morning. To discover Pierre was instantly to gather 
her abbreviated skirts about her and pick her way 
across the muddy street, for long ago she had made 
up her imperious mind that know him one day she 
would. Pierre, with a kindly chivalry, made room for 
her and she sat down beside him, with her feet curled 
under the bench and arms folded in precise imitation of 
his own favorite attitude. For some seconds she did 
not say a word. She had often watched him seated in 
solemn silence, and wished to show that she had at 


PIERRE 


3 

least an inkling of the proper thing. But an inkling 
was all she cared to have credit for. 

“You like them very much, don’t you?” she ven- 
tured, speaking in French and glancing up at the statue. 

“Very much, indeed,” Pierre assented. 

“Which do you like the best?” 

“Which do you?” For, having come to his friends 
with a question of his own, which, happily for him, 
had been decided as he wished to have it, Pierre was 
in the mood for a chat. 

“Well, I like the Doctor best.” 

“Of course you would. He is more your kind, but 
Jacques, there, is more my kind. Your father is a 
doctor, too, isn’t he?” 

Helene nodded. 

“But how did you know he was a doctor?” she 
asked. 

“He came over and talked with me one day when 
I was here in my old place.” 

Helene looked surprised. 

“How could he talk to you? Could you under- 
stand his English?” 

“I can’t understand anybody’s English. I wish I 
could,” sighed Pierre. 

“But could you understand his French? I’m sure 
I can’t,” she added with an adorable laugh. 

“Not exactly,” Pierre admitted. 

“And I know he could not understand yours at all. 
Oh I you must have had a fine talk.” 

“We managed to get on pretty well,” Pierre ex- 


4 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

plained with some dignity, having more respect for 
his elders, apparently, than his new friend. “Do you 
speak English?” he asked after a pause. 

“Why, of course I do, but not so well as French. 
You see my mother is French and you’re more with 
your mother, you know.” 

“Are you?” 

“Why, don’t you know you are?” 

“I suppose I ought to, but mine died when I was 
only four years old,” Pierre explained. 

“Oh, pardon with such a world of regret in her 
tone and such sympathy in her eyes that Pierre, turn- 
ing and looking gratefully at her, almost said, “you 
dear!” 

“My father died before my mother,” he continued 
in friendly confidence. “He was a guide and a crys- 
tal-searcher. That’s what Jacques was, you know. 
Perhaps that’s why I am just a little fonder of him 
than of the Doctor. I seem to get nearer to him.” 

“Is Jacques the name of the guide?” 

“Yes, Jacques Balmat. He went to the top of 
Mont Blanc all by himself before he ever guided 
the Doctor there.” 

“If you have time, there are several things I would 
like to have you tell me,” Helene ventured. 

“Plenty of time,” was the cordial response. 

So Helene seated herself more comfortably against 
the back of the bench, aware that much time might be 
needed for the telling. 

“First, what is your name?” she began. 


PIERRE 


5 


“My name is Pierre Arnaud.” 

“And next, I would like to know all about you and 
Doctor de Saussure and Jacques.” 

“There is not much to tell about me, but there’s 
a lot about the others,” and Pierre shrugged his 
shoulders at the greatness of the undertaking. 

“Every word, please.” Helene had a way of being 
a trifle commanding. “I would like you to commence 
with yourself.” 

“And how about your name and yourself?” 

“Oh, my name is Helene. Helen in English, and 
I like the English better. It sounds more like me 
because I love to be quick about things, and Helene 
seems as though it never would end.” 

“I like the English of it too. I’ll call you Helen,” 
so that point was quickly settled. 

“Did father tell you our last name?” she asked. 

“I didn’t quite catch it.” 

“It’s Jones. The very worst English name there 
is, but we can’t help it.” 

“Why is it the worst?” 

“I don’t exactly know why,” and Helen (since she 
herself prefers it) was rather surprised that she didn’t. 
“But I do know for certain that it is the very worst. 
I suppose it must be for some dreadful reason.” 

“It isn’t a nice sounding name,” Pierre remarked, 
repeating it under his breath once or twice, and Helen, 
being extraordinarily frank herself, did not mind his 
frankness. 

“But about me there is very little to tell,” she con- 


6 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


tinned. ‘‘I was born in New York, and I am ten years 
old. You’re not so old, are you?” 

“I’m older. I’m twelve. I was it yesterday.” 

“Did you have any presents?” 

“Two five-franc pieces,” chinking them proudly to- 
gether in his pocket. 

“I have one sister ever so much older than I am,” 
Helen went on. “She’s married. She was sort of 
my mother at first, because my real mother was not 
very well when I was little. I hated the man who 
married my sister. I wouldn’t even speak to him. 
But last Christmas my sister gave me a lovely doll 
and he gave me a little mahogany box to hold her 
clothes, and now I feel quite differently.” 

“Just like a girl,” thought Pierre, but wisely kept 
the thought to himself. 

“Then I have two big brothers, and they are quite 
a little older than I am, too, and they tease me al- 
most to death. I had three brothers. I was what 
they call in English an afterclap.” 

“An afterclap.” Pierre thought it even a more re- 
markable sounding name than Jones. 

“Yes. It’s not very complimentary. I believe it 
means that when I came the family was quite grown 
up and settled and had not wanted to bother with 
any more children. Once my oldest brother, when I 
was very little, put me in a platter with a great sil- 
ver cover over me and had me served up for dinner. 
And once one of them toppled me out of my baby 
carriage, and when I was four or five years old he 


PIERRE 


7 


showed me a dent m the sidewalk near the curb that he 
said my head had made as I struck it, and I believed 
him. Still, they’re very nice brothers, and they write 
me the funniest letters now that we’re over here. 
We’re going to stay all the summer in Chamonix be- 
cause we like it and the air seems to agree with us. 
Now that’s every word about me.” 

“There must be a lot more.” 

“No there isn’t. At any rate, I’ve told you the 
most important things. If we come to know each 
other better you’ll hear the other things gradually.” 

“Do you want to know the most important thing 
about me first?” Pierre asked seriously. 

Helen nodded. 

“I’m going away,” he said. This piece of news was 
quite a blow, for all chances to know each other better 
seemed to dissolve in thin air. 

“Where are you going?” she asked. Pierre was 
waiting for the question. 

“I am going to Aix-les-Bains.” 

“To live?” with a crestfallen air, which was really 
quite flattering. 

“For a month — yes. I did not know whether I 
ought to go or not until I came out here and asked 
the Doctor. I’ve just decided.” 

“How do you ask him?” with a puzzled frown. 

“Well, I just look right up at him and think and 
think and then in a little while I see things clearly, 
and it is just as though he told me what to do. I really 
am fonder of Jacques, but of course the Doctor knows 


8 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


more. You see it is more than a statue to me. They 
were real live men once and they’re real to me still. 
The thing I love best about them is the way they’re 
looking up. It’s that that helps people. It’s as though 
they were getting some sort of help themselves from 
the mountains. And when we can’t see Mont Blanc 
for the clouds, as you know sometimes we can’t for 
days together, they seem to be seeing right through 
them. If they were just supposed to be talking to 
each other, and were not looking up, it might be a 
fine statue, but it wouldn’t get such a hold of you.” 

“I understand,” said Helen thoughtfully, and 
Pierre, who had wondered if she would, was gratified. 
Not to everyone would he have revealed a bit of 
his inner life like that. He was glad to find he had 
made no mistake. 

“Lots of people love this statue, Helen,” he went 
on to explain. “I’ve heard some of the summer visi- 
tors say they walk this way time and time again just 
to pass it. And my grandmother says that the Doctor 
is so kind-looking and so quiet and so gentlemanlike, 
she thinks the village is safer at night with him 
watching over it. Oh! I’m sure we all feel they are 
real people. It was the Doctor who first said there 
must be a way to reach the top of Mont Blanc; and 
at last he did reach it. That is why there is a statue 
to him. And when he climbed the Brevent down yon- 
der, from which you get a wonderful view of Mont 
Blanc, he was more crazy than ever to get to the 


PIERRE 


9 

top. He wanted to find out how things looked and 
seemed so high up in the air. 

“While he was in Chamonix he talked to one and 
another of the crystal-searchers and chamois-hunters, 
because he knew they were the only ones who would 
ever help him, and he made them see that whoever 
should find the way would be doing something per- 
fectly great. For eight years after that the Doctor 
could not. come back to Chamonix, but a painter'named 
Bourrit and a man named Couttet and Jacques Bal- 
mat tried over and over again and failed every time.” 
At this point Pierre suddenly lapsed into silence, and 
Helen thought best not to break in on an apparently 
absorbed train of thought. Then he resumed seri- 
ously, “Would you like me to begin way back, Helen, 
and tell you how there came to be any Chamonix?” 
For having assumed the role of story-teller he found 
himself enjoying it immensely. 

“I should love it.” The more the better, as far as 
Helen was concerned. 

Given such delightful carte blanche, Pierre realized 
that the only limit need be the limit as to the time 
he was expected home. So he took out his watch 
and made a mental calculation. It was a beautiful, 
open-faced Swiss watch that had belonged to his father, 
and he held it in the palm of his hand longer than 
necessary. Being exceedingly proud of it, he hoped 
Helen would make some comment, but she had entered 
as religiously upon her role of listener as he upon 


lo LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


that of story-teller and had no thought of saying any- 
thing whatsoever. 

“It’s a wonderful thing to have been born in a place 
like Chamonix,” said Pierre, casting about in his mind 
in indecision as to where to take up the thread. “Some 
of the people here do not see anything unusual about 
it, but Pm sure I thought it a wonder-place almost 
from the moment that I began to think at all. The 
house where we used to live is up on the ridge be- 
hind the church. Have you been up there, Helen?” 

“Oh, yes, with my father, at sunset.” 

“I go there almost as often as I come to the statue. 
Tell me, Helen, honestly did you ever see anything 
so beautiful in your country as that little church stand- 
ing out clear against the great white snows of Mont 
Blanc?” 

“I do not just happen to know of anything so 
beautiful” — a patriotic love for her own country mak- 
ing it seem highly probable that there really were 
mountains just as beautiful. 

“Well, I think it was the view from our cottage 
that made me lose my heart to Chamonix right away, 
and from the minute I could talk I began to ask ques- 
tions. I wanted to learn about everything that had 
ever happened, and my father, who knew it all, loved 
to tell me long, long stories. It seems that way back 
in the year eleven hundred, there were people here. 
There is an old paper signed and sealed by one of 
the Popes that tells about the giving of the land to some 
monks just about that time, and the paper calls the 


PIERRE 


11 


place by a Latin name that means ‘a well-guarded 
camp’ (the mountains are the guards) and the French 
for the Latin name is Champmenie. So the place 
came to be called Chamonix, though most people spoke 
of it as The Priory. You know that’s what they call 
a house where monks live. It really came to be quite 
a place for those days and the Duke of Savoy al- 
lowed the people to hold fairs, and the peasants from 
all over the country used to come up to them. And 
yet, Helen, strange to say, some foolish people got 
it into their heads that robbers and wild people lived 
here and when foolish people do get an idea into their 
heads there it stays, whether or no. I suppose that’s 
one reason they’re foolish. So will you believe it, 
when two Englishmen in Geneva made up their minds 
that they were going to see what this part of the coun- 
try was like, they came armed to the teeth because 
they had heard such dreadful tales about it. Their 
servants were armed, too, and they did not dare go 
near any of the houses, but camped out in tents and 
kept up fires and watches all night. The next day 
they found out that everything that had been told 
them was not so at all because a number of the men 
of the village came to them offering to be guides. That 
all happened a hundred and forty years ago, but near 
the Mer de Glace you can see a block of granite where 
those Englishmen cut their names. I’ll take you and 
your father up there and show it to you some day, 
when I come back from Aix. But regular visitors 
did not really begin to come here until twenty years 


12 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


after that. Then Doctor de Saussure arrived, and 
every summer more and more people. Then there 
came a day, Helen, when Jacques Balmat, after try- 
ing over and over again, got to the top of Mont Blanc. 
Would you like to hear him tell how he did it?” 

“I should adore it,” said Helen, with a warmth 
born of the realization of what a beautiful time she 
was having. 

From its hiding-place in his black blouse Pierre 
produced a blank book with a highly colored Alpine 
view on its cover, such as are to be found in the shops 
on the Rue Nationale at Chamonix. 

“A teacher named Gex found this diary only seven 
years ago. I have copied a lot of it and I almost 
know it by heart,” and Pierre, fairly burying his face 
between the pages, began to read in a monotonous 
voice the story of Balmat’s first expedition. It is told 
in a decidedly matter-of-fact fashion, and Helen would 
have preferred to hear it in Pierre’s own words. It 
was intensely interesting, however, and at its end she 
remained still and motionless, as if loath to break the 
spell. Pierre knew what her silence meant. It is great 
when either little folk or big understand the silences. 
It is stupid to have to have everything put into words. 

“And now go on about yourself,” urged Helen. 

Pierre consulted his watch and was on his feet in 
an instant. 

“I can’t stay another minute. I’m late now. I’ll 
tell you the rest next time,” he said. 

“When will that be?” she asked, shaking out her 


PIERRE 


13 

dainty frock as she rose, and showing that even young 
limbs grow a bit stiff from long sitting. 

“To-morrow at this time if that’s right for you.” 

“Any time’s right for me, but wait a moment, I want 
to tell you something. I have two great dead friends 
too. I wish I had them together in one statue like 
yours.” 

“What are their names?” 

“Lincoln and Brooks.” 

“What mountains did they climb?” for Pierre’s 
ideas as to greatness were somewhat restricted. 

Helen paused a moment and then her imagination 
came to her rescue. 

“Bigger mountains than yours,” she exclaimed ex- 
ultingly. 

“Bigger than ours?” Pierre didn’t believe it but 
he had the grace to “take to his heels” (which is a 
funny phrase when you come to think of it) without 
saying so. 


CHAPTER SECOND 


PIERRE AND HILAIRE 


Humble we must be, if to heaven we go; 

High is the roof there, but the gate is low.** 

— Robert Herrick. 

F rom the first day of Pierre’s orphanhood two 
dear old people had taken him into their home 
and had cared for him as their very own. The home 
was a quaint four-roomed little place at the back of 
a book and photograph shop, but with such love at 
the heart of it as made it a veritable heaven. It was 
also as well-ordered a little place as can well be im- 
agined, an essential to real heavenliness anywhere. 
Pierre called these foster-parents of his grand’mere 
and grand-pere Sainton, and “grand” they truly were 
in more ways than one, though their walk in life was 
what the world calls humble. Their every thought 
fairly centered about Pierre, and all that concerned 
his welfare seemed most important. 

They made the mistake, however, of wanting to 
keep him a little too much to themselves. He had 
been invited again and again to visit his aunt and 
uncle and their daughter, his cousin Hilaire, who lived 


PIERRE AND HILAIRE 


15 

at Aix, but there had always been some reason why 
he could not be spared. Pierre was anxious to be 
allowed to go, for Hilaire had made two or three visits 
to Chamonix to see him and he adored her. Besides, 
he thought it was but fair that he should have a chance 
to know his near relatives better. So, at last, as you 
are already aware, he consulted his friend the Doctor, 
and saw the right of it so clearly that he was able to 
convince the old people they ought to let him go. 
When they really saw the “ought” of anything, they 
never failed to let it have its way. But in the matter 
of this visit of Pierre’s — shame on their loving old 
hearts — they had tried not to see it. 

So it happened one June morning that a dark little 
cloud seemed to come floating straight through the 
open door of the Saintons’ home (as clouds often do 
at Chamonix) for the simple reason that Pierre had 
taken leave of it and was off at last for his long- 
dreamed-of visit. But for Pierre himself everything 
was bright with anticipation, and he gayly boarded the 
toy-like train that goes winding down the side of the 
mountain, and then changed to one of the larger car- 
riages — there are really no grown-up looking trains 
in either Switzerland or France — that run on to Aix. 

Meanwhile, the summer day dragged slowly along 
for Hilaire, who was looking forward to this visit 
as eagerly as Pierre himself. Time and again she let 
her embroidery lie idle in her lap and sat gazing at 
Madame Bovaird, whose booth was next her own in 
the flower-market, wondering how she could knit away 


i6 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


so steadily all day. Finally she had a happy thought, 
and turning to Madame Bovaird, asked eagerly, 

“Will you do a little favor for me?” 

Madame Bovaird had only to lift her eyes from her 
knitting for a fraction of a second for Hilaire to feel 
assured that she would. No one ever expected more 
than that of Madame Bovaird unless they desired to 
make an actual purchase at the little booth of which 
she was the proprietaire. Madame herself never 
sought a purchaser. When once she had arranged her 
flowers in their blue china bowls “of a morning,” they 
must speak for themselves. If, in competition with the 
other booths of the flower-market, they could not speak 
loudly enough to attract the passer-by, why then she 
would give them away at night — that was all there 
was to it. Meanwhile no time Jiad been wasted. The 
knitting of lupin Angora, that miracle of softness, into 
hoods and jackets and helmets and shawls and every 
imaginable wearable thing, was every bit as important 
as the sales of the flowers, for they formed the staple 
article of trade of Monsieur Bovaird’s tiny shop under 
the Hotel Grande Bretagne. 

When there were flowers to be given away there 
was never any question as to whom they were to be 
given. The rooms of the old people at the Asile 
Evangelique, a little way up the hill, were aglow much 
of the time with Madame Bovaird’s gratuities. And 
one pair of blue vases, in a little room under the 
pergola of the Grand Hotel d’Aix, was always kept 
filled whether or no. If no flowers were likely to be 


PIERRE AND HILAIRE 


17 


left over, then some were set aside for the purpose. 
Madame Bovaird entrusted the arranging of them to 
Hilaire, and three times a week at the same time of 
day Hilaire would make her way to the hotel annex, 
and, running up three flights of stairs, knock gently 
at the door of the little room. If it was tenantless, 
as she usually found it at that hour of the morning, she 
was privileged to enter, and, removing the faded 
flowers, she would replace them with the fresh ones. 
Sometimes she would leave a few loose flowers, a gift 
from herself, lying beside them. To appropriate one 
of the vases she would have deemed a sacrilege. Be- 
sides, she seemed to see Madame Bovaird standing 
guard over them as religiously as any sentinel on duty 
when the regiments were in summer quarters over at 
Le Bourget. 

Hilaire’s “favor” always meant but one thing: that 
Madame would be kind enough to keep watch (in a 
most cursory way, of course, that would in no wise 
interfere with the knitting) of Hilaire’s booth as well 
as her own, while Hilaire herself would hurry away 
for a chat with Tante Lucia, the inmate of the room 
under the eaves and the owner of the little blue vases. 
Again and again during the long afternoon, Hilaire 
had stepped to the curb lining the triangle of the 
flower-market, to see if she had come out for her 
airing in her chair at the left of the entrance to the 
Grand Hotel. When Hilaire finally discovered her, 
she instantly sued for the favor, since there was no tell- 
ing when the chair might be suddenly deserted. If a 


i8 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


big touring car should suddenly come whirling up, that 
would be the signal for instant departure. There were 
no words for Tante Lucia’s aversion to automobiles. 
She resented everything about them. More than that, 
the narrow sidewalk brought them into terribly close 
proximity to her chair, and, as she one day confessed 
to Hilaire, she was just as afraid of them when they 
were standing still as when they were going. 

But to-day they had things quite to themselves for 
a while. Laurent Trefort, the big, kindly porter, had 
brought out a chair for Hilaire the moment he spied 
her coming, and with the same respectful air, too, with 
which he would help any titled dowager into or out 
of one of the little parasoled victorias always in wait- 
ing in the streets of Aix. With more respect in his 
heart, no doubt, than for some of those titled per- 
sonages, and more in his manner, too, possibly. 

“Well, how goes it with you, Hilaire?” asked Tante 
Lucia with a world of kindly affection, as they settled 
down for a good talk. 

“Very quietly — too quietly. Sometimes it seems as 
though I should die of quietness.” 

“Naturally,” with a shrug of her shoulders. 
“Young hearts crave excitement.” 

“But your heart is young,” said Hilaire, and Tante 
Lucia assented, for she knew her heart was as young 
as ever and was happy in the conviction that nothing 
could ever age it. 

“And yet you don’t seem to mind quietness,” Hilaire 
added. 


PIERRE AND HILAIRE 


19 


“Mind It? I love it, and I hate excitement. That’s 
one reason why I hate automobiles: they’re so fright- 
fully exciting.” 

“You’ll get accustomed to them some day,” laughed 
Hilaire. 

“I shall not try to, I have better use for my time. 
But, Hilaire,” Tante Lucia added gravely, “though it 
would be fine if you could have a little more fun and 
variety, you know there’s a great deal of excitement 
about here of a kind I would not have you have for 
the world. You never feel you would care for it, do 
you?” 

“I don’t know enough about it to know whether I 
would or not.” 

“Well, I know enough about you then to know that 
you wouldn’t. Some day you shall see for yourself.” 

“See for myself! I should like to know how.” 

“I’ll have Doctor Alwyn take you in next door.” 

“Oh! do you think he would?” and Hilaire’s eyes 
shone. 

“I’m sure he will if I ask him.” 

“But I wouldn’t like you to ask him, I do not even 
know him by sight.” 

“It’s time you knew him, high time. This will be 
his fourth summer here at Aix.” 

“But please don’t ask him until I do.” Hilaire had 
heard so much in one way or another about the Doctor 
as to stand considerably in awe of him. 

“Perhaps by that time he’ll ask you himself, — no, 
come to think of it, I don’t suppose he ever would. 


20 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


Probably it’s the last place he’d imagine a child would 
care to go.” 

“I’m not such a child. I shall be sixteen in August. 
Besides, children do care to see it. Those who never 
have a chance even to go into the gardens squeeze their 
little heads between the iron palings till they’re almost 
black in the face. I own it all seems like fairyland 
to me and the Grand Cercle and the Villa des Fleurs 
like two great splendid palaces. 

“Exactly,” and Tante Lucia, pressing her lips firmly 
together, sadly shook her head. “Palaces, indeed, 
with all their gold and satin and great crystal chande- 
liers, palaces that have an enchantement terrible for 
a world of people. But I’m not the one to speak like 
this, am I?” and the kind old eyes twinkled. “If it 
were not for them, the house would lose half its cus- 
tom. Just the baths of themselves would not bring 
nearly so many to Aix.” 

“But many people go in there just to hear the mu- 
sic, don’t they? And to sit in the gardens and never 
care for the other part at all.” 

“If it wasn’t for the other part it would be a fine 
place. And to-morrow they plan to have a wonderful 
time.” 

“To-morrov/?” 

“It’s the Fourth of July. That is a great day in the 
United States. We always make much of it here in 
the hotel, you know, for our American guests. Ask 
Madame Bovaird to watch your flowers and you run 


PIERRE AND HILAIRE 21 

over for a while about noon and you’ll see what we 
do.” 

“Oh, but I’d love to,” for Hilaire’s knowledge of 
the Grand Hotel d’Aix was limited to the three flights 
of stairs leading to Xante Lucia’s room. 

“And may I bring my cousin Pierre, who is com- 
ing to-day to visit us?” 

“Oh, yes, indeed, and welcome. I should like to 
know Pierre. But listen ” 

An automobile was putting on its brakes in an omi- 
nous way, and Xante Lucia was gone in an instant. 
Old as she was, she fairly cleared the outside steps 
at a bound, but, once safely within doors, she stopped 
a few moments to catch her breath before attempt- 
ing the inner stairway. In fact, under no other cir- 
cumstances was she ever known to hurry, an automo- 
bile being the only earthly thing she stood in awe of. 
Always calm, and utterly free from self-consciousness, 
she was never apparently in the least disconcerted by 
even the ultra-fashionable people who sat in the ro- 
tunda after dinner around the little coffee tables. She 
never spoke to any of them, but she would pass in and 
out as occasion required, gazing about her with knitted 
brows and curious incredulity as if to say, “How can 
you make yourself look like that?” Xhat her own 
peasant skirt of black and her corsetless figure made 
her in turn something of an object of curiosity never 
seemed to occur to her, any more than that the brass 
keys jangling from an engulfed belt noisily announced 
her coming and going with no uncertain sound and 


22 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


attracted attention to herself. She could not help look- 
ing as though she felt superior to the over-dressed 
people who stared so rudely at her, probably because, 
in point of fact, she really was superior. For fifteen 
years and more a hotel had stood on that corner 
where the Grand Hotel now stands, and from the 
very first Tante Lucia had been in charge of the linen. 
And when the new building replaced the old she re- 
mained in charge. The shelves of her linen-room 
were piled high with long, hemstitched, monogramed 
sheets that fold two-thirds down the beds, and with 
dozens upon dozens of huge, hand-scalloped cases 
for the great pillows. Constant replenishing of that 
marvelous linen was in itself quite a task, and a sense 
of her responsibility doubtless made her carry herself 
a trifle proudly. 

Hilaire, waiting till assured that Tante Lucia was 
safely out of harm’s way, hurried back to the flower 
market and, finding it later than she had thought, be- 
gan putting away bowls and flowers for the night with 
alacrity. And when Pierre’s train trundled into the 
grimy Aix depot, there she was waiting to greet him, 
the embodiment of radiant gladness, so that the best 
and foremost of Pierre’s anticipations came to its own 
right then and there. Once having settled himself in 
the Durands’ cozy home, he began to have the time 
of his life, or whatever may be the French equivalent 
therefor. Hilaire’s St. Bernard, Pierrot, had much 
to do with that good time. He was a wonder of a fel- 
low. Rather too wonderful, the passers-by who found 


PIERRE AND HILAIRE 


23 

him left on guard thought, for both bark and build 
were on a large scale and it was painfully evident that 
the low wall inclosing the garden would impose no 
barrier at all should he take it into his massive head 
to ignore it. But when it was discovered that he was 
safely tethered to an iron ring strung on a chain, which 
gave him no range whatever in the direction of the 
wall, that altered matters. Then the stranger, at- 
tracted by his appealing eyes, would begin to make 
friends with him, and Pierrot, though obliged to re- 
main at a respectful distance, because of the chain, 
would wave his plume of a tail so graciously in re- 
sponse as to warrant the assurance that he would not 
in any case have done him the least harm, unless his 
new friend had shown an unwarranted intention of 
encroaching on his master’s preserves. And there was 
every reason in the world why he should prove him- 
self well-mannered, for his pedigree left nothing to be 
desired. A brave rosette of blue ribbon tacked to the 
inner side of the front door of the cottage testified that 
he had taken first prize at the grand dog show held at 
Marlioz the previous year. What is more, he knew 
perfectly well that he had taken it and was ready on 
the slightest provocation to assert his ownership. He 
would allow no one but Hilaire to touch that rosette, 
and, although Pierre again and again mischievously 
pushed a chair against the door in an attempt to reach 
it, he had always found himself at the critical moment 
of achievement tumbled to the floor and held there 
between two huge white paws, while Pierrot, with his 


24 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

shaggy head held questioningly on one side, made in- 
quiry as to whether Pierre ever would learn that that 
sort of thing was not for one moment to be tolerated. 

It was not, however, considered necessary always 
to leave Pierrot on guard and, when on the morning 
of the Fourth of July, Felix Durand, taking his wife 
with him, drove off to Chambery to see his old mother, 
and Hilaire and Pierre started for the flower-market, 
Pierrot begged so hard not to be left behind that he 
had his way. Pierre walked on one side of Hilaire, 
and Pierrot, when it so pleased him, on the other. 
Much of the time he preferred to roam at large, which 
roaming his own exceeding largeness rendered intimi- 
dating to those whom he met in the narrow, walled 
roadway. 

“What day did you say this was, Hilaire?” asked 
Pierre with the air of one on knowledge bent, after 
they had been walking side by side for some time in 
silence. 

^^C^est le quatre de 

“Oh, no, I mean the English of it.” 

“The Fourth of July. But you’d better say the 
American of it, because the English don’t care for it.” 

“And why do the Americans care?” 

“Because it’s the day when they signed a great paper 
saying they were not going to have anything more to 
do with the English.” 

“But some English people are nice,” said Pierre, 
speaking from the experience of an occasional en- 
counter with the English tourists at Chamonix. 


PIERRE AND HILAIRE 


25 


“Oh, yes, a few,” laughed Hilaire. 

Pierre did not like to be laughed at. Who does 
when he is in earnest? 

“Go on,” he said a trifle domineeringly, “tell me all 
you know about it.” 

“I don’t know so very much,” Hilaire replied in- 
differently. “We’ll both know more after we’ve been 
to the hotel.” 

Pierre gave a little grunt of displeasure. What 
he wanted was to know more now, so that he need 
not appear to know nothing whatsoever later on. He 
resented the fact that Hilaire either would not or 
could not enlighten him. He rather guessed he’d know 
all about it if he were her age, and then he was rude 
enough to quicken his pace and put considerable dis- 
tance between them. Hilaire could have laughed 
aloud, he cut such a ridiculous figure as he strode 
ahead. He had on the customary blouse of the French 
boy, fastened with a single button at the back of his 
neck and belted at the waist. As he elected to carry 
his hands in his trouser pockets, so that the blouse was 
all to the fore, the effect from behind was undignified, 
to say the least. More than this, between trousers 
that came only to the knee and socks wrinkling down 
over his shoe-tops, a pair of battered-looking bare 
legs, black and blue from every imaginable sort of 
wear and tear, were much in evidence. And yet Pierre, 
blissfully unconscious of any defects, held his head 
high, considering himself, no doubt, an impressive em- 
bodiment of offended dignity. 


26 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


But at last Pierre seemed to think better of his 
ungentlemanly behavior and, when he reached the 
end of the wall-girt lane at the foot of the hill, waited 
till Hilaire came up and slipped his hand in hers with 
an upward glance, as if to say, “Pardon, Mademoi- 
selle, I still adore you.’’ And Hilaire forgivingly gave 
his hand a little squeeze by way of pardon. That a 
boy who ordinarily prided himself on having turned 
his back on all childish ways should walk with his 
hand in hers was most remarkable, and, more sur- 
prising still, he kept it there — possibly by way of pen- 
nance — until they reached their destination. Once at 
Hilaire’s booth in the market, he made himself very 
useful, with the same unmistakable air of atonement, 
while Pierrot, “charging” under orders, watched his 
activities with envious eyes. Ambrose, whose flowers 
Hilaire sold for him, had just pushed his hand-cart 
up to the curb as she arrived. It was full of wild 
flowers, to the sale of which the booth was given over 
during that wonderful month of June. Picked with 
the dew on them in the early evening and packed with 
greatest care, Ambrose had them brought down nightly 
by train to Aix from a marvelous field at the head of 
the Tete Noire Pass at Chamonix. The traveler who 
comes upon this field unexpectedly fairly holds his 
breath for wonder. Covering some three or four 
acres, it stretches away a great sweep of varied color, 
flowers of a kind massing themselves together. Gold 
and every conceivable shade of lavender in tall growths 
of several definite varieties halt here and there as if 


PIERRE AND HILAIRE 


27 


by military command, leaving roomy spaces for lovely 
low growths of marguerites, pink clover and pansies. 
No wonder Hilaire drew a sigh from the deeps of de- 
light as she helped to lift the flowers from the cart, a 
delight which probably had much to do with her ex- 
quisite skill in arranging them. Later Ambrose 
brought out the bowls, stored in the tiny closet at the 
back of the booth, and filled them with water from 
the fountain in La Place des Bains across the road- 
way. The effect of the booth, when all was as it 
should be, was strikingly attractive. Hilaire herself, 
as she sat embroidering, the sunshine flecking her 
peasant costume, added no little to the attractiveness. 
Pierre glanced up at her now and then with undis- 
guised admiration. He was sitting at her feet making 
dainty boutonnieres from a bunch of cyclamen lying 
on the ground beside him. He had deft fingers and 
Hilaire had shown him how to encircle each bunch 
with a row of inverted leaves, so that their magenta 
lining should shade with the magenta thread of color 
rimming the flowers. 

“I am sorry,” he ventured, after they had been 
talking quite a while about other matters, “that you 
could not tell me more about the American Fourth.” 

“And I’m sorry for the way you acted when you 
found I couldn’t.” 

“I’m sorry for that, too, sorrier than about the 
Fourth,” he replied, holding one end of a string in 
his teeth and winding it so tightly around the cycla- 
men as almost to cut the stems. “But I didn’t want to 


28 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


say I was sorry,’’ looking straight into Hilaire’s face. 
“I tried to show you I was without saying it.” 

“Yes, I know, when you came back and took my 
hand, and then in the way you’ve been helping me with 
the flowers.” 

“But if I showed you, it seems too bad for me to 
have to say it.” 

“How could you know that I knew unless you told 
me? Besides, in a way, I half made you say it.” 

“How did you half make me?” he asked, in a tone 
of honest inquiry. 

“Because I said I was sorry for the way you acted.” 

“Were you trying to make me say it?” 

“Of course not, but I would like you to have had 
the courage to say it of your own accord. It would 
have been a great deal better to have told me you 
were sorry the minute you turned back on our way to 
the market. You would have got it off your mind, in- 
stead of thinking of it all this while.” 

Pierre sat absorbed in meditation for a few min- 
utes. This was a new point of view and interested 
him. 

“I wonder,” he went on, “why a thing like that is so 
very hard to say.” 

“It isn’t for everybody. It isn’t for me. I am 
usually so very uncomfortable until it is said.” 

“I’d rather be uncomfortable forever than say it.” 

“That’s because you are ohstine,^^ 

**Ohstinef^ he repeated, not sure of the meaning. 



“PIERRE SAT WITH IDLE HANDS. DEEP THINKING DOES NOT LEND ITSELF TO 
THE MAKING OF DOUTONNIERES .” — PagC 2g 



PIERRE AND HILAIRE 


29 

“It’s the same thing that makes a bull-terrier hang 
on for dear life.” 

“But that’s what people like in a bull-terrier,” with 
a very convincing air. 

“But a bull-terrier holds on right or wrong. A boy 
ought to know the difference,” Hilaire explained. 

“And is that the trouble with me?” he asked. 

“What do you think?” 

Pierre showed what he thought without saying it. 

“And isn’t it the trouble with you, too, sometimes, 
Hilaire?” he suggested, hoping very much that it was. 

Hilaire’s eyes twinkled, but Pierre was too much in 
earnest to see any funny side. 

“I have faults enough,” she replied, “but, honestly, 
Pierre, I do not think I am ohstineeJ^ 

“Can anything be done to change me?” he asked 
rather hopelessly. 

“Certainly there can. Little Brother.” Hilaire’s pet 
name for him always gave Pierre a subtle thrill and 
inclined the scale in her favor. “Now that you know 
about it, you can try not to give in to it, but if you 
were born with it, you’ll probably have to fight it all 
your life. The things that are born in us are ob- 
stinate things always.” 

Pierre sat with idle hands. Deep thinking does not 
lend itself to the making of boutonnieres. 

“It’s queer we are all made so different,” he re- 
marked at length. 

“It’s delightful. Do you wish we were all alike?” 


30 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

Pierre shook his head. He could see that that would 
be stupid. 

“But you would not think we would be so very dif- 
ferent,” he said. 

“Oh, yes you would. First, you see, there are our 
fathers and mothers. And then our grandfathers and 
grandmothers. And then our great-grandfathers and 
great-grandmothers, and then our great-greats and so 
on. There’s no end to them, and we have to thank 
every one of them for something or other. Some of 
yours got the best of some faults and some of mine 
of others, and some of them, perhaps, never even tried 
to get the best of any faults at all, and the whole 
conglomeration has been passed right on, yours to you 
and mine to me. Now do you wonder we are differ- 
ent? And I suppose the particular conglomeration we 
inherit makes what we call our temperament, and if we 
can only make our temperaments mind our wills, why 
that of course will be the making of us” 

Pierre sat up gazing approvingly at Hilaire. Her 
apparent ignorance regarding Americans’ Fourths 
seemed pardonable in the face of such knowledge of 
life. 

“But, Pierre,” she said, looking down very kindly to 
show that she did not mean to be severe, “is it possible 
that I’m the first one to tell you that you are 
oh s tine e?” 

Pierre cast about for a moment in his honest mind 
in search of the truth. 

“Well,” he said with a sigh, “grand-pere and grand’- 


PIERRE AND HILAIRE 


31 


mere and the cure of the little church at Chamonix 
— they have all told me that I would never own I 
had made a mistake. That is pretty much the same 
thing, I suppose.” 

Hilaire gravely nodded, as much as to say, “I 
thought so,” and Pierre nodded by way of admitting 
that she was right. Suddenly he exclaimed, 

“I can tell you one thing. I’d like to get a whack 
at the old fellow who is most to blame for it,” clap- 
ping a destructive hand over a poor little spider by way 
of emphasis. 

“That’s the bother of it, Pierre. We never have 
a chance to get back at them. Most of the greats 
see to it that they are well out of the way before we 
come along. But more than likely some great-grand- 
mother is to be thanked for your obstinacy, and not 
some old fellow, because it’s true, I guess, that women 
as a rule are more obstinate than men. But once in 
a while there’s a tremendous exception. A man whose 
obstinacy is so colossal that no woman’s can approach 
it. And once in a while there’s a woihan who isn’t 
one bit obstinate.” 

“Like you, Hilaire,” and Pierre gave a mischievous 
wink. 

“Yes, like me, only there’s no telling. My mother 
may think I’m a little obstinate myself.” 

Pierre lifted his eyebrows as though he thought 
there might be something in that. And then he sighed 
a great sigh, for he had had enough of introspection, 
and straightway brought the conversation to an end 


32 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

by rolling over and over, plumping against Pierrot 
dozing in the sunshine and sending him bounding on to 
his four legs in dazed bewilderment. Then leaving 
Hilaire to tie up the rest of the cyclamen and plung- 
ing one hand affectionately under Pierrot’s collar, he 
dragged him off across the way to have a look at the 
people seated or standing about the pavilion in La 
Place des Bains and having their morning glass from 
the spring of les Deux Reines. He even invested two 
centimes in a glass for himself and two centimes more 
for one to carry back to Hilaire. He could not resist 
the outlay because the water looked so delicious bub- 
bling up through its crystal fountain. Besides one of 
the young girls who filled the glasses had such beautiful 
eyes. Fortunately for Pierre’s pocketbook the over- 
flow from the public fountain in the center of the 
square was good enough for Pierrot. 

And so the morning wore away until at last it was 
time to furbish up a little for the visit to the Grand 
Hotel, and then to turn the booth over to Madame 
Bovaird, who had kindly offered to take it into her 
keeping for the whole afternoon. 


CHAPTER THIRD 


PETER AND SOME OTHER PEOPLE 


I keep six honest serving men 
{They taught me all I know); 

Their names are What and Where and When 
And How and Where and Who. 

I send them over land and sea, 

I send them east and west; 

But after they have worked for me 
I give them all a rest. 

— Kipling. 

H ilaire and Pierre made their way across the 
little triangle in front of the Hotel and then, 
lost in admiration, Pierre came to an abrupt stand- 
still. From each of four horizontal flagstaffs, secured 
to the balcony of the second floor, hung a United States 
flag, made of silk, and beautiful in color. The four 
flags, lightly swaying to and fro, were most effective, 
so that it was no wonder that Pierre stood for a mo- 
ment spellbound. 

Tante Lucia was waiting for them on the steps of 
the hotel and took them at once to the entrance to 
the salle a manger, where the guests were already at 
luncheon. There again Old Glory was everywhere in 


33 


34 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

evidence in the decorations and a tiny American flag 
surmounting a tiny flag-pole stood at each place. In 
the salon adjoining the dining-room the Septour, a 
stringed orchestra from the Casino, was rendering a 
delightful program. Intensely interested in a scene en- 
tirely new to them, Hilaire and Pierre peered in 
through the open door, wide-eyed and silent for sev- 
eral minutes. Then Pierre’s questions came thick and 
fast and Hilaire incidentally gained much informa- 
tion, which Pierre happened to know she stood in 
need of as well as he. After a time they turned their 
attention to a little house made of some sort of con- 
fection, which had been placed on a table in the hall- 
way near the doorway of the dining-room. Lighted by 
electricity, the red paper in its tiny windows glowed 
brightly, suggesting high revelry going on within. 

“What is this little house?” Pierre asked after 
some moments of careful contemplation, making so 
bold at the same time as to see how it felt. 

“It’s supposed to be the White House at Washing- 
ton,” replied Tante Lucia. 

“Who lives in it?” 

“The President of the United States.” 

“It’s his palace?” 

“It’s where he lives. I believe they don’t call their 
fine houses palaces in America.” 

“Well, I think they’d better call it something better 
than the White House, if the President lives in it.” 

“We’ll see what can be done about it,” laughed 
Hilaire and then instantly grew grave again. It was 


PETER AND SOME OTHER PEOPLE 35 

not so long since Pierre had resented hilarity on a 
subject dangerously akin. 

“I should like to know why it is called the White 
House?” Pierre continued. 

Hilaire suggested that the color might have some- 
thing to do with it. 

“Do you know why, Tante Lucia?” he asked, ignor- 
ing Hilaire. 

“Well, Pierre, I remember Dr. Alwyn once told me 
that in the United States they would never give un- 
pretentious little villas such big names as we often 
give them and that, when anything is important enough 
to have a name at all, it is often one that has just come 
along of its own accord. And so I should not wonder 
if Hilaire is right and that it is called the White 
House, even if it is the home of the presidents, just 
because it happens to be white.” 

“I like not giving big names to things. I think I 
should like the United States,” Pierre said musingly, 
recalling his new little friend up at Chamonix. “Oh, 
but what are they doing now?” he asked eagerly, for 
all the men and women at the tables had risen to their 
feet. 

“The orchestra is playing England’s national hymn, 
‘God save the King,’ out of compliment to the Eng- 
lish guests, and the others are standing ‘just out of 
courtesy,’ as they say in English,” replied Tante Lu- 
cia. 

“Out of cour-te-5^V.^” Pierre repeated the words 
with a French accent. 


36 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“Yes, to show their respect and friendliness for the 
English.” 

But, as it turned out, not quite everyone had risen. 
Pierre, having made the discovery that three ladies 
had retained their seats, stood with his hands folded 
behind him wondering why with such intentness as 
even to forget to put the question. When the music 
ceased the guests sat down, but with the first strains 
of the next air they were on their feet again, and 
Pierre glanced up at Tante Marie for further expla- 
nation. 

“That’s ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ they’re play- 
ing now, America’s national hymn, out of compliment 
to our American guests.” 

Pierre looked anxiously at the three ladies. Alas ! 
they remained seated as before. Lifted completely 
out of himself by the thrill of the music and a rush 
of sympathetic patriotism and, to his own surprise, 
doubtless, as much as anybody’s, he strode across the 
dining-room, past the junior proprietaire and his shin- 
ing chafing-dishes, to where the three women sat, ex- 
claiming with a world of entreaty in his voice, “Oh! 
won’t you ladies please stand — just out of cour-te-sie?^^ 
pausing a moment to recall the three English words. 
His high, boyish treble carried far notwithstanding 
the music and all eyes within range were instantly 
centered upon him. One of the ladies rose, very red 
in the face, yet smiling good-naturedly at the situation, 
and then such a dreadful thing happened. One of the 
other ladies who had remained seated leaned over out 


PETER AND SOME OTHER PEOPLE 37 

of her chair, and taking Pierre firmly by the shoul- 
ders gave him a good shaking. Pierre kept his hands 
tightly clinched behind him, some inborn sense of 
chivalry, boy as he was, seeming to make him scorn 
to let them fly at a woman. When she released him 
he still stood his ground and looking her straight in 
the eyes said very slowly and distinctly and in perfect 
French that left nothing to be desired, 

“If you are that kind of a — woman’’ — it seemed 
as though he thought a moment and rejected the word 
lady — “I should think the Americans would be glad 
you did not stand.” 

“Good for you,” someone called out in English. 
“Faith, I think we are more honored in the breach 
than in the observance,” and Pierre, wondering what 
it was all about, found himself lifted high in the arms 
of a great, strong man. But he had come to himself 
now, and stinging under the humiliation of that out- 
rageous shaking, his brown head hung low, so that it 
touched the head of his new friend. That he was 
rather a big boy to be held in anyone’s arms had not 
seemed to trouble him in the least. Then when he was 
on his feet again another surprising thing happened. 
A gentleman at the far end of the room stood on his 
chair and called out in French: 

“Ladies and gentlemen, will you do me the honor 
to drink to the health of the champion of my coun- 
try?” And daring to raise his eyes for the fraction 
of a second Pierre saw that everyone was standing 
with glasses lifted and wondered why. No occasion 


38 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

could possibly be so appalling as to keep that wonder 
at bay. Then the same voice called out, “And now, 
my fellow-countrymen, three cheers, if you please, for 
the same gallant little champion.” 

The man who had held Pierre in his arms joined in 
with such a will as to make Pierre glance up startled, 
and then he saw for the first time the face of his new 
friend, and, seeing it, tightened his hold of the big 
hand that held his in a firm clasp. He saw, too, that 
the two ladies had left the dining-room. For once he 
did not wonder why, and smiled exultingly. His new 
friend observed his discovery and smiled too. Then, 
realizing that the little fellow would probably be glad 
to escape from the concentrated gaze of so many 
strangers, he led him from the room. But the instant 
Pierre’s hand was freed he was back again at the side 
of the lady who had risen at his request. Touching 
her arm with childish confidence, he whispered, 

“Thank you very much for doing as I asked you. 
Pm sorry I made so much trouble,” and then not 
waiting for an answer he was out of the room in a 
flash. The gentleman was waiting for him at the 
door. “She was the nice one, you know,” Pierre ex- 
plained, “I had to thank her.” 

“Oh, I see,” said the gentleman and then he guided 
him to where Tante Lucia and Hilaire, their faces 
crimson, were standing at the far end of the corridor, 
quite out of sight of the salle a manger. 

“Well, what do you say to Dr. Alwyn?” were Tante 


PETER AND SOME OTHER PEOPLE 39 

Lucia’s first words, for she had great regard for 
the proprieties. 

“I’ll have to say it some other time.” Pierre was 
feeling too keenly just then to be able to give much 
thought to the doing of the proper thing. Besides, 
he was conscious of a little mistiness in his eyes and 
had to keep looking down to hide it. 

“I hope you’ll say a lot of things to me some other 
time. I’ve an idea we are going to be the best friends 
imaginable,” and the gentleman looked as though he 
would very much have liked an excuse for getting 
Pierre into his arms again. 

“I think we are friends already,” said Pierre softly, 
and glancing up through the mistiness caught a glimpse 
of one of the most adorable smiles that ever lighted 
any human face — and then his new friend was gone. 

“And so that is Dr. Alwyn,” said Hilaire, gazing 
after him and shaking her head as much as to say, 
“yes, I can see how true all the kind things must be that 
people have said about him.” And then Tante Lucia 
and Hilaire turned their attention to Pierre and be- 
gan to question him as to how he had happened, or 
rather how he had dared, to brave all those strangers. 

“I would dare to do it right over again, even if 
I knew she would shake me,” and never was more con- 
tempt packed into one word than that word “she.” 
“Only, of course, if I had guessed what she was up 
to, I think she is the one who would have had the 
shaking.” 

“Oh, no, you wouldn’t have done any such thing. 


40 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

You are too much of a gentleman for that,” and 
Tante Lucia laid an approving hand on his shoulder 
as they moved toward the elevator that was to take 
them to the pergola on the roof of the annex, since 
one of the objects of the visit was to be shown about. 

“Well, I don’t know, Tante Lucia, because you see 
she isn’t a lady.” And Tante Lucia was very much 
pleased with the friendly way in which he spoke her 
name. 

“That’s no reason for not being a gentleman,” said 
Hilaire, as they crowded into the tiny elevator. “But 
all the same I’m proud of you, Pierre.” 

“Are you truly?” and Pierre beamed. There was 
nothing quite so precious in his eyes as Hilaire’s com- 
mendation. 

The elevator landed them on the fourth floor. 
Through the open door of an apartment they saw a 
man, who looked as though he might be somebody’s 
valet, having a playful tussle with two bull-terriers 
resplendent in shining brass-studded collars. They 
were far more alluring in Pierre’s eyes than the pro- 
spective view from the pergola and he pressed against 
Tante Lucia in the hope of veering her in their direc- 
tion. 

“I don’t believe you want to stop there,” she said 
mischievously. “Whom do you suppose they belong 
to?” 

“Not to her?” 

“Yes, to her.” 

^^Pauvres chiens/^ said Pierre, looking back at them 


PETER AND SOME OTHER PEOPLE 41 

over his shoulder. “It must be awful to have to be- 
long to a person just because she happens to have the 
money to buy you.’’ 

“It isn’t so dreadful for dogs as for people,” re- 
marked Hilaire. 

“People are never sold, Hilaire,” said Pierre scorn- 
fully. His knowledge of what had happened in the 
world outside of Chamonix was somewhat limited. 

“Oh I yes, they are, the more’s the pity,” she said 
kindly. “That was one of the reasons for the terrible 
Civil War in America.” 

Pierre looked at her thoughtfully. Perhaps she 
did know some things, after all, but he forbore to 
question further. Some time when he was having a 
good talk with his new friend he would ask him all 
about it. He would be a nice one to have tell him; 
and in any case he must know a great deal more than 
Hilaire. Perhaps the Doctor would come out to 
Chamonix. He would ask him the very first chance. 
And now they were on the roof under the shade of 
the pergola and what a view lay before them! Lake 
Bourget, sparkling in the sunlight, and beyond it Mont 
du Chat with the fine white road that zigzags up to 
its summit. On the left Mont Revard, surmounted by 
the cross that can be seen at every turn for miles 
and miles. Just below them the town with its park 
and pretty flower-market, and out beyond, on the foot- 
hills of the mountains, the vineyards, their vines, where 
they skirt the road-sides, trained in graceful festoons 
from tree to tree. Still, be a view what it may, it does 


42 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

not always interest little people. I myself remember 
that my mother used to choose the day-boat for our 
summer exodus to Saratoga that I might enjoy the 
beauties of the Hudson. To this day I cherish a 
grudge against the Palisades because for one long 
half-hour I was not permitted to so much as glance 
at the book of fairy tales I had brought with me. 
Besides, I did not think them so very grand. I re- 
member greatly preferring the view of the harbor 
from the end of my own street at home, with the Statue 
of Liberty looming up against the crimson and gold 
of the sunset. And so I, for one, can understand why 
in a very few minutes Pierre suggested a little rest- 
lessly that he thought they would better make their 
visit to the kitchen. So down, down to the kitchen they 
went, rather a dark sort of place in the basement, but 
aglow with a glittering array of copper saucepans 
and the shining metal-work of two huge ranges. In 
the wide hall just outside of it, long, narrow wooden 
tables, spotlessly clean, were set for the help of the 
house, and at each place stood a pint bottle of the 
red wine of Savoy. No sooner had they stepped into 
this hall than Pierre took “French leave” of his com- 
panions, though why should an unmannerly departure 
be saddled upon a people so superlatively polite as the 
French? He was not missed, however, for Tante 
Lucia and Hilaire had turned back to watch the skill- 
ful concoction of a Spanish omelette by the chef. 
Pierre’s “French leave” was accounted for by the fact 
that through the open door of a storeroom at the 


PETER AND SOME OTHER PEOPLE 43 

end of the hall he had made a delightful discovery. 
Seated on one corner of a table, laughing and talking 
with a man who sat behind it, Pierre had discerned 
his new friend and he was off instantly. Knowing 
it would be unmannerly to interrupt, he simply slipped 
his hand into the hand of his friend and said never 
a word. Dr. Alwyn went right on talking for a mo- 
ment without glancing down, enjoying the confiding im- 
pact of that friendly little hand in his own. Pierre 
seemed content, too, that he should appear to take no 
notice of him. Though he could not have defined it, 
I presume he was conscious of the intimacy implied 
in absolute silence between friends. But presently the 
Doctor looked down, drawing the brown hand on to 
his knee with a “Well, my little friend, has it oc- 
curred to you that I do not yet know your name?” 
Pierre nodded his head. He knew that perfectly well 
and had only been waiting a chance to tell him. 

“My name is Pierre.” 

“Why, is it? So is mine, but the English for it is 
Peter; not a pretty name at all, you see.” 

“I like it,” Pierre replied thoughtfully, “but that’s 
not what Pm to call you.” 

“Oh, yes you are. Peter now and forever. That’s 
what all my friends who know me well call me.” 

“But they’re grown up. Besides, do I know you 
well?” 

“Don’t you?” with the adorable smile. “I thought 
we reached that kind of knowing at a bound up there 
in the dining-room.” 


44 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

Pierre gazed up at him, carefully reading his face. 

“I think it is true,” he said slowly, “we do know 
each other very well indeed.” 

Whereupon the doctor lifted him to a seat beside 
him on the table, with a hug in transit. 

“And now that I know your name, Pierre, let me 
introduce you to Alexandre. Alexandre is the man 
who has charge of all the wonderful good things to 
eat on the shelves of this storeroom, and he waits 
on me besides upstairs in the dining-room, and he does 
it to perfection. Some day you must come to dinner 
with me and see for yourself.” 

“I don’t know about coming to dinner,” said Pierre 
demurely. 

“Don’t know about coming to dinner? Will you 
please be so kind as to tell me the reason?” 

“I might see her.” 

“Well, what of that? There would be no danger 
of another shaking, I take it.” And then the doctor 
bit his lip, wishing this last unsaid. 

“There would be danger of my shaking her. That’s 
the sort of danger there would be.” 

Alexandre, putting his hand to his mouth to smother 
a laugh, went to answer someone calling for him down 
the hall-way. The doctor slipped into his empty chair, 
settling himself for a good chat, and Pierre, seated on 
a corner of the table, comfortably clasped his hands 
round one knee, with the same alluring prospect in 
mind. 

“Now tell me all about yourself, Pierre,” began 


PETER AND SOME OTHER PEOPLE 45 

the doctor. “But I already know some things that 
you don’t imagine. I know that you are — but I don’t 
believe Pd better tell you. It might make you feel a 
little too cocky. But, really, it was very fine in you to 
try to get those women on to their feet and just as 
fine for you to stand your ground afterward with the 
worst of the three when you hadn’t succeeded.” 

There was no fear of Pierre’s being unduly elated 
by the doctor’s approval, if, indeed, he took it in at 
all. He had a trick of following out a line of thought 
of his own sometimes at the expense of the thoughts 
of other people. 

“Just as you picked me up, Peter,” he began slowly, 
and then, after pausing as if to listen to the new sound 
of Peter, he began again. “Just as you picked me up 
up there in the salle a manger, you said something in 
English. Was it something about what you English 
call breeches?” 

“Yes, it was, but not the kind you mean. You re- 
member you said to that woman that, since she really 
was that sort of person, you should think Americans 
would be glad she had not stood up and you hit the 
nail so squarely on the head that I felt I just had to 
help to drive it in. I used a phrase from ‘Hamlet’ 
that ” 

“Hamlet?” Anything not understood Pierre in- 
stantly challenged. 

“Hamlet was the name of a Prince of Denmark, 
about whom the great English Shakespeare wrote a 
play,” for Peter had already discovered that to be 


46 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

very explicit would save time in the end. “And Ham- 
let once used that phrase I used — and it means just 
what you said, that we Americans really were more 
honored to have a woman like that keep her seat — she 
looked more like a man, didn’t she, with her mannish 
coat and the flower in her buttonhole — than rise and 
pretend to a courtesy of which she did not know the 
very first letter. I suppose it was rude of me, but as 
I spoke in English I doubt if they understood.” 

“They understood enough to walk out,” chuckled 
Pierre, beaming down upon Peter with the satisfied 
smile of the proverbial Cheshire Cat at the thought of 
how his friend had approved of him before all those 
people. 

“And now, my old friend,” said Peter, as though 
they had been friends for ages, “please tell me all 
about yourself, because, though in a way we know 
each other well, we know little enough as yet about 
each other. ComprenezT^ 

^^Oh, Old, je comprends,” and then Pierre told his 
story, the short story of twelve uneventful years, sor- 
rowful where it touched on his orphanhood while but 
a little fellow, serene and sweet in its account of his 
life with his dear old foster grandparents at Chamonix. 

“And who is the young girl who is with you?” asked 
Peter at the story’s end. 

“Oh, that is my cousin, Hilaire. She lives here at 
Aix with her father and mother. Ever since I can 
remember she has been running up on little visits to 
Chamonix to see me. Her mother was my mother’s 


PETER AND SOME OTHER PEOPLE 47 

sister. They would have cared for me if the Saintons 
hadn’t wanted me so very much. I’m here in Aix 
with them now for a month’s visit. Have you ever 
been to Chamonix?” 

“No, never, strange to say.” 

Could you come up sometime this summer for a 
while?” and Pierre spoke as though all his future 
happiness depended on the answer. 

“Well, what do you think?” 

“I think you could.” 

“I think so too.” 

And then Pierre looked at Peter with brimming 
eyes. Tears have nothing to do with the kind I mean. 
Eyes that simply overflow with happiness. 

“And now about yom — Peter?” 

“Well, that’s an awful long story, Pierre, for, if 
you will believe it. I’m over fifty. Quite a long way 
over.” 

^^Bon Dieu/^ Pierre exclaimed with the most 
despairing look imaginable. 

“But years don’t matter at all between friends,” 
for Peter surmised what the trouble was. Pierre 
brightened instantly. He had feared so many years 
might put an end to everything. “No, you can set 
your heart at rest on that score. It’s just the same 
as though I were ten or you were over fifty as far 
as our friendship is concerned. Age only signifies 
in ” Peter was going to say “in marriage cer- 

tificates,” but steered clear of the term to avoid ex- 
planations and began over again. “It’s only when 


48 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

people get married that unsuitable age is taken into 
account and even then it doesn’t very much matter if 
the people themselves are happy and there’s a reason- 
able prospect of their staying so. But, you see, to have 
really lived such a very long while as I have means a 
very long story. Suppose I don’t tell you anything. 
Suppose you just wait and find me out.” That sounded 
rather interesting. “Then some day perhaps you 
could tell me my story.” 

“Perhaps I could,” for Pierre had considerable con- 
fidence in his own powers. At any . rate he liked the 
idea of trying. 

“There’s one thing about me I have not told you,” 
Pierre continued. “I did not just know about it my- 
self until this morning. I am very ohstinee.^* 

“So am 1. We’ll shake hands on that. But then 
you know most people are.” 

“Hilaire isn’t.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Oh, yes, she says so herself.” 

“She does, does she? I’d rather take someone else’s 
word for it myself,” Peter answered. 

Just at that moment they saw Hilaire and Tante 
Lucia coming toward them and wouldn’t Hilaire have 
liked to give that small cousin of hers a shaking if 
she had dreamed what words had just been on his 
lips I The unfair way in which we are forever quoting 
each other is one reason that things get so terribly 
mixed up in this world. Hilaire had said, you know, 
that she had faults enough of her own, but that it 


PETER AND SOME OTHER PEOPLE 49 

was not hard for her to say she was sorry when she 
was sorry, but never a word of all that did Pierre 
remember to say. Peter, however, talked with Hilaire 
for some minutes, not showing disapproval of her al- 
leged self-approval, if he felt it. Besides he was one 
of those wise people who kindly peer around for ex- 
tenuating circumstances, if you know what those are, 
and who seldom jump to conclusions. More than 
that, there was an air about Hilaire which convinced 
him that any real self-praise would be very foreign to 
her. While they still stood talking in the storeroom 
Peter extended an invitation, which Pierre promptly 
accepted, to go, with him as guide, through the salons 
of the Grand Cercle and the Villa des Fleurs on the 
next Fete day. Tante Lucia, to Hilaire’s embarrass- 
ment, had rather led up to the invitation by explaining 
to Peter that it was natural (for in thinking it over 
she had concluded it was natural) that a girl of Hi- 
laire’s age should want to see something of what went 
on in the great buildings. 

“Especially as I know,” she explained, “that neither 
she nor Pierre would ever care anything for it.” 

Hilaire had demurred at first, but Peter showed so 
plainly how glad he would be to have the pleasure 
that it would have been absurd not to fall in with the 
plan. Then they mounted the steps of a back stair- 
way leading from the basement, slowly on Tante Lu- 
cia’s account — and passing through a swinging door 
stepped, to the children’s surprise, into the central hall 
where the guests who had been at luncheon sat around 


50 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

little tables drinking their coffee. It was quite an 
ordeal for Hilaire, for she instantly felt all eyes upon 
them and the door they were aiming for seemed miles 
away. Her becoming peasant costume was enough in 
itself to attract attention and, besides, most of the 
guests recognized Pierre, who carried his head high, 
as though bent upon showing that he had not been in 
the least humiliated. At the far end of the hall sat 
“his friend, the enemy,” cigarette in hand, and the mo- 
ment Pierre discovered her he shied against Peter so 
violently that a smile went round. But the enemy, 
nothing daunted, resting her head against the back of 
her chair, drained a tiny glass of absinthe in nonchal- 
ant fashion. Pierre instantly recovered himself, 
marched along, holding his head higher than before, 
until they were safe outside. . . . Then as he said 
good-by to Peter he drew him down so that he could 
whisper in his ear. 

“Do you know all those people?” 

“No, only a few who happened to be here last year.” 

“Will you please tell those you know I couldn’t 
help jumping that way because I just hated even to 
see her. Some of them might think I was afraid. You 
will tell them, won’t you?” 

“There is no danger of anyone who saw you in 
the dining-room thinking you would be afraid, but, 
since you wish it. I’ll tell them all the same,” and 
Pierre knew he would. That sort of certainty is one 
of the delightful outcomes of well-grounded friend- 
ship. 


CHAPTER FOURTH 


TWO OF A KIND 


Let’s — oh, anything, daddy, so long as it’s you and me. 

And going truly exploring and not being in till tea! 

— Kipling. 

T he very next morning after their visit to the 
Grand Hotel, Hilaire found Pierre waiting, 
ready to accompany her to the flower-market. 
“What, again to-day?” she questioned. 

Pierre nodded. 

“And how does that happen?” she asked. 

“It happens because if I go I may see Peter.” 
“Peter I Are you crazy, Pierre?” 

“He says I’m always to call him Peter.” 

“But you mustn’t, no matter what he says. It 
wouldn’t be respectful even if you knew him well.” 

“That’s the way I felt, but he seems to think I do 
know him well and that that time we had in the dining- 
room made us great friends right in a minute. And 
Hilaire, it’s — for — him,” and Pierre spoke slowly as 
though he wished to have this thoroughly understood, 
“to — say — what — I— shall — call — him. ’ ’ 

Hilaire wisely held her peace. There was a note 


52 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

in Pierre’s voice which we all do well to heed whenever 
we hear it; the people who don’t are the people who 
to their own everlasting hurt go roughly trampling 
where they should wisely fear to tread. So “Peter” 
it was from that hour with Pierre, and “Peter” it came 
to be in time with Hilaire, and “Peter” it will have 
to be with us, too, I imagine. Side by side they went 
down to the flower-market, silently as it chanced, but 
not glumly. Pierre had set Hilaire thinking what a 
great thing it was for him to have made such a friend 
“at a bound,” and yet she was not in the least sur- 
prised, for Pierre had for her the most compelling 
charm in the world. She could see how a magnetic 
man like the doctor would at once discover it. And 
Pierre was old enough and discerning enough to re- 
spond just as quickly to the doctor’s magnetism. So 
there you had it. A glorious friendship — sealed for 
all time with a seal not to be tampered with. That 
was what the note in Pierre’s voice had meant. 

“And I,” thought Hilaire with a sigh, “cannot ex- 
pect to be in it.” 

Pierre must also have been dwelling on his great 
good fortune, for a smile hovered about the corners 
of his mouth and shone in his eyes. And he did see 
Peter that morning, for Peter strolled to the market 
bright and early. In fact, he saw him every day for 
a week. And one after another they took many of 
the delightful walks that fairly “lie in wait” for you 
at Aix. The first morning they started across the rail- 
way tracks and up the hill of Tresserve so as to come 


TWO OF A KIND 53 

out on the road skirting beautiful Lake Bourget, which 
brings you at its end to the Restaurant du Lac at the 
Petit Port. Here they sat down at one of the little 
tables under the plane trees and hugely enjoyed two 
tall glasses of “limonade.” The Petit Port is one of 
the points of departure for the excursion boats that 
make the tour of the lake, and some form of outdoor 
entertainment is usually going on for the amusement 
of those who come and go and who patronize the res- 
taurant on the quay. Pierre had told Peter of a little 
dwarf of an old man who is often to be seen there and 
was glad to have him soon put in an appearance. He 
wears a remarkable cone-shaped hat and sings old 
French songs to the accompaniment of a tambourine, 
but it is the man himself who is interesting. He has a 
long white beard and twinkling eyes, and there is no 
question at all but that he is at heart a merry old man. 
Pierre took the keenest delight in the whole perform- 
ance and was very regretful when, at the end of one of 
his funniest songs, he suddenly began withdrawing 
from his audience with a series of gracious bows man- 
ifestly directed toward Peter, and with reason, for he 
had a five-franc piece of Peter’s in his pocket. Then, 
at what he evidently considered a polite distance, he 
turned his back and a little farther on stretched him- 
self on the ground for a noonday nap. One after an- 
other those who had lingered to listen went their way, 
until at last Peter and Pierre were left quite to them- 
selves in their corner of the garden. 


54 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“What are you thinking of, Peter?” Pierre ventured 
after they had sat some minutes in silence. 

“Oh, I was thinking of the story of a rare old genius 
of a vagabond named Paragot, who knocked about 
France in most irre.sponsible fashion and who for a 
time earned his living by playing a violin. And one 
day, when he was in great straits for money, he stum- 
bled across an engagement right here at the Restau- 
rant du Lac; the man who usually played having fallen 
ill. There were three of them in the troupe — a French 
girl named Blanquette was one. She had traveled 
about the country with her grandfather, a wandering 
musician, until he died. She could play the zither 
very well and was useful in many other ways. The 
third member of the troupe was a boy friend of Para- 
got’s” — at which words Pierre sat a little more erect 
and alert. If some man besides Peter had a boy for 
a friend, he was eager to hear all about him. “Para- 
got gave him the queer name of Asticot,” Peter con- 
tinued, “which means a little gray worm, you know. 
Asticot was the son of a not-always-sober washer- 
woman; one of an unkempt, uncared-for flock of nine 
children, and his mother only too gladly let Paragot 
have him for a couple of francs or so. The little plat- 
form where they played stood over against the railing 
yonder that separates the garden from the quay. Para- 
got, I remember, wore a black velveteen jacket, vel- 
veteen breeches tied with ribbons at the knees, and a 
rakish Alpine hat with a feather in it, all of which had 
belonged to Blanquette’s grand-pere. Blanquette herself 


TWO OF A KIND 55 

was resplendent in a sort of Italian costume with ‘a 
cable of blue beads’ about her neck and with great gilt 
earrings and gilt shoes. Asticot’s make-up consisted 
of a red flannel shirt and a tambourine which he had 
not yet learned to play, and so had to hold very still 
for fear of an unexpected jingle. He found it a great 
relief when he was permitted to move about collect- 
ing money in it, as he could then jingle it to his heart’s 
content. The thing he loved most was to make his 
rounds among the tables and talk a little with the 
ladies when they asked him questions, as they often 
did. The thing he loved next best was to see Blan- 
quette’s eyes glisten when he returned to the platform 
and poured the silver and copper from the tambourine 
into her lap. One afternoon, just before they com- 
menced playing, Paragot was joking with Blanquette 
and she was taking him a little to task for always 
laughing at her, so that Paragot said to her, ‘There 
is nothing in this comical universe I don’t laugh at, my 
little Blanquette. I am like good old Mpntaigne — I 
would rather laugh than weep, because to laugh is the 
more dignified.’ But a little later Paragot himself 
was nearer to tears than laughter. The man Laripet, 
who played the piano, had struck a chord and Paragot 
had joined in and played three bars. Then he stopped 
short and his face grew deadly white. Asticot jumped 
from the edge of the platform where he was sitting 
and cried, ‘Are you ill. Master?’ and Paragot an- 
swered, ‘111? Of course not. Pardon, Monsieur 
Laripet. Recommenqons* and then he plunged 


56 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

into a merry tune as if nothing had happened.” 

“What had happened, Peter?” 

“Why, nothing much, apparently. A party of four 
had come into the garden and taken their seats at a 
table. One of them chanced to be a lady Paragot had 
known and cared for long before.” 

“And wasn’t he glad to see her, Peter? The longer 
the time the gladder, I should think.” 

“No; it is not always that way, Pierre. Besides, 
you see he was all tricked out in that foolish pearl- 
buttoned, beribboned suit that had belonged to Blan- 
quette’s grandfather, which was really not at all like 
him.” 

“Did he go and speak to the lady when he was 
through playing?” 

“No, it wasn’t best for him to do that. Besides 
he could not be perfectly sure that she knew him.” 

“Did he ever see her again?” 

“Yes, but everything was so changed it didn’t make 
him very happy.” 

“I wish they were here now.” 

“They’re here as much as they ever were.” 

Pierre looked at Peter aghast and with accusing 
eyes. 

“Why, don’t you remember I told you at the start 
I was thinking of the story of a man?” answered 
Peter. 

“Yes, I remember,” regretfully. “I would have 
liked them to be live people.” 

“Oh, they are alive in the mind of the man who 


TWO OF A KIND 


57 

wrote the story and they’re alive in mine to-day, and I 
think they are likely to stay alive in yours.” 

“Oh, yes, I can see them just as plain as day, right 
over there on the platform. But there’s nothing like 
being really alive yourself; the way you and I are, 
now is there, Peter?” 

“Nothing like it, and you don’t half know yet, 
Pierre, because you are too little, what it really is 
like. It is more wonderful than you have any idea of.” 

“Does everybody know how wonderful it is, some 
day?” 

“No, not everybody, but you will.” 

“Are you sure?” with a little anxiety. 

“Perfectly sure.” 

“You make everything interesting, Peter.” This 
after a long pause, during which Pierre had been mus- 
ing on Paragot and Blanquette and Asticot. “Now I 
wish you would talk about yourself.” 

“I could not make that interesting.” 

“Oh, yes, you could, you couldn’t help it,” said 
Pierre. But Peter remained silent. After a little 
while Pierre’s feelings found vent in a sigh that went 
straight to Peter’s heart. 

“What’s the trouble, old fellow?” he asked. 

“I don’t see how I can ever find you out, Peter, 
if you don’t start me. I really know very little about 
you. I like what I do know, very much.” 

“Better let it go at that,” Peter advised. Where- 
upon Pierre gave a grunt of impatience, so that Peter 
realized that perhaps he was rather aggravating. 


58 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“Of course, it is not exactly true,” he said, “that 
you don’t know anything. Just put your wits to work 
and tell me how much you do know.” 

“Oh, I know you are a great surgeon. Hilaire told 
me that much.” 

“Hilaire was misinformed.” 

“And you’re not a surgeon?” 

“Oh, yes, I am, of a kind.” 

“But that’s what I said.” 

Peter made no reply. 

Pierre slowly arrived at his meaning. He didn’t 
like being called great. 

“What else do you know?” Peter asked. 

“Oh, I know that you live in New York and I 
know that you’re just a bachelor.” 

“Haven’t you any use for bachelors?” 

Pierre ignored the question for reasons. He was 
not up on the subject. 

“And I know that you have been coming to Aix for 
four years in the summer for your vacation, and that 
every one here ” Pierre paused abruptly. 

“Go on.” 

“You won’t like it, Peter.” 

“Go on just the same.” 

“That every one that knows you here is ” and 

Pierre dropped his voice as if to utter a fearsome 
thing, “is very fond of you.” 

“Pierre,” said Peter in a tone that made him pre- 
pare for the worst, “I — I like that very much indeed. 
I only hope it’s true.” 


TWO OF A KIND 59 

Pierre stared at him a minute — then he said ear- 
nestly with a puzzled frown: 

“What sort are you anyway, Peter?” 

“I haven’t the remotest idea — I’m forever taking 
myself by surprise; no wonder I surprise other people. 
You’re to find out the sort I am and tell meJ* 

“It isn’t going to be easy,” and Pierre shook his 
head as though perplexed. 

“Of course, if you feel there is anything you actu- 
ally need to ask me,” and Peter had to bite his lips 
to hide a smile, Pierre was buckling to his task with 
such stern seriousness. 

“You might tell me,” pausing with the air of a law- 
yer who feels that questions must be wisely chosen, 
“you might tell me some of the things that have hap- 
pened to you lately. That would give me a little more 
to go on.” 

“How about my voyage over? Would you like to 
hear about that?” 

“Wouldn’t I?” and Pierre’s eyes opened wide with 
a boyish delight that put the lawyer-like air to instant 
rout. “I’m going to cross the ocean myself some day, 
you’d better believe, but first I’m going to climb Mont 
Blanc. I am going to do it just as soon as they will 
let me. Sometimes when I look up at him from 
Chamonix it seems as though I couldn’t wait. I just 
want to get to the top and look off to the edge of the 
world. You look off to the edge when you’re at 
sea, too, don’t you?” 

“Why, yes, to what answers to the edge.” 


6o LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


‘‘That’s what I mean, nothing to see that you’re 
not seeing. One after another I hope to see or know 
most of the beautiful things, in books and out of 
them.” 

“In books and out of them?” Peter repeated in 
blank astonishment. “Will you please tell me how you 
happen to come by that fine phrase?” 

“Oh, I have a friend. Father Jerome up at Chamo- 
nix. He’s told me about them. He says it’s for me to 
find a way to see them, when I’m older, and I shall.” 

“Didn’t I tell you you would?” 

“But now, please, about the voyage. Make it good 
and long, like the story about Asticot.” 

“Well, a voyage is a pretty fine thing, Pierre, and an 
ocean steamer is a pretty fine sight, when she has all 
steam up and everything in readiness to sail. There’s 
an alert look about her from smoke-stack to water- 
edge, and she seems like a great, live creature impa- 
tient to slip her leash and be off to the sea, and the day 
I sailed I was impatient, too. A lot of kind people had 
come down to say good-by and they had filled my state- 
room with all sorts of bon-voyage things, but I was so 
tired through and through from a long year’s work I 
was completely at the end of my line and felt as though 
I could not smile and talk another minute. Fond as 
I am of them all, I never heard a more joyful sound 
than the steamer’s two gruff whistles that mean ‘all 
ashore that’s going.’ All the same, I stood on one of 
the forward gangways, as the tugs warped us out into 
the river, and waved and waved until my friends were 


TWO OF A KIND 


6i 


just a little indistinguishable bunch in the crowd on 
the pier. Then down I went to my stateroom, dumped 
all my beautiful gifts into my steamer rug on the 
floor, dropped into my berth with all my clothes on, 
and slept for eight hours without stirring, until about 
eleven o’clock at night. When I woke somebody was 
standing over me. 

“ ‘Did I wake you?’ he asked. 

“ ‘Of course you did,’ I answered. ‘What did you 
do it for?’ 

“ ‘Now, I’m sure I didn’t,’ he replied. ‘I just stole 
in here to have a look at you.’ 

“ ‘Come in for another at ten o’clock to-morrow; 
I’m just dead beat, David,’ I said, and then I turned 
over and that’s all I remember. And David was kind 
enough and wise enough to do as I told him. Some 
men would have made me get into my night-fixings and 
have something to eat, when all I needed was to sleep 
and sleep.” 

“Did you know David?” Pierre asked. “No, I 
don’t mean that. Of course, I don’t mean did you 
know him. I mean who was he? How did you come 
to know him?” 

“You wait and you’ll find out in a minute,” Peter 
answered. “Next morning I woke up precisely at 
ten and there was David sitting in a camp-chair smil- 
ing away. 

“ ‘I didn’t do it this time, sir,’ he said. 

“ ‘I bet you did,’ I answered. 


62 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


“ ‘No, sir; I’ve been right here for an hour and 
you’ve never stirred till now,’ was his reply. 

“ ‘Sitting right there like that staring at me?’ I 
asked. 

“ ‘Yes, sir, if that’s what you call it’ 

“ ‘Well, you ought to know better,’ I said, ‘than to 
waste time like that, David.’ And all the time I was 
fairly yawning my head off. It takes quite a while 
to get awake after eighteen hours’ sleep. David didn’t 
defend himself about wasting time. He knew there 
wasn’t any need to. David has rare qualities of heart, 
Pierre. Most Scotchmen have, though they try to hide 
them. I have an idea David could sit gazing at the 
face of a friend well-nigh forever, if he had not seen 
him for a long while.” 

“But please tell me who he is, Peter,” begged 
Pierre. 

“Well, David has been in the service of the line for 
forty years and we have made five voyages together. 
I always make it a point to cross with him, but he never 
stood so much in need of companionship as this time, 
I think. The steamship company has changed its port 
of sailing, but David couldn’t afford to change his 
home because his old wife has a grown invalid son 
to care for and it costs a great deal to move. Arriv- 
ing in England no longer means arriving at home and 
he can only manage to see his family two or three 
times a year. So it wasn’t strange, perhaps, that he 
was glad to have an old friend on board. David’s 
this kind of a fellow, Pierre. He’s always ready to 


TWO OF A KIND 63 

do anything for anybody, and it’s not the fees at the 
end of a voyage he has in mind either, although, of 
course, he is thankful enough to get them. Always 
sunny, always patient. I’ve seen him stoop to rechalk 
the shuffleboard — that’s a game they play on deck — 
for some exacting youngster, when it was almost too 
dark to see to play, just as cheerily as for the first 
early riser in the morning, yet just barely able to man- 
age it with his old back stiff with rheumatism and a 
long day’s work. But I saw to it that no one really 
imposed on David that trip, and we spent every minute 
we possibly could together. David can tell a story 
well, and he raked up every weird tale of land or sea 
he had ever heard with which to entertain me, and we 
would laugh till our sides ached. Once or twice I 
thought it seemed to annoy the other passengers, who 
evidently put me down for a queer one. Three or 
four of them had presented letters of introduction, 
and, though I tried to be civil, I hadn’t any time to 
spare from just loafing and from David. Don’t you 
think it’s all right, Pierre, for me to know whom I 
choose these three short vacation months, when for 
the other nine I’m glad to be at the call of everybody 
that needs me, rich and poor alike?” 

Pierre was too deliciously conscious of his own good 
fortune to bother to answer the question. 

“Pm mighty glad you choose to be with me,” he 
said, with a beatific smile, as he sat tipped back in 
the little tin chair, his head resting comfortably against 
the slender trunk of the plane tree that shaded them. 


64 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“Now, please go right on about David,” he urged, 
not willing to brook the least pause in the narrative. 

“Well, there really isn’t much more to tell about 
David that I can think of. The good steamer just 
carried us along serenely and uneventfully through 
days full of sunshine and nights full of stars, until 
almost before we knew it we were in sight of land. 
Then the next morning at six o’clock the tender came 
alongside to take those of us on board who were go- 
ing ashore at Cherbourg. Some salt water seemed to 
get into David’s eyes as I started down the gangplank, 
but he continued to blink and smile all the same. 
‘Good-by,’ I shouted back. ‘Remember I’m booked 
for September thirtieth.’ ‘I’m no likely to forget it,’ 
came the answer at the top of his lungs. I cannot tell 
you, Pierre, how it felt to look over to the land and 
know that all France lay before me and all hard work 
and responsibility behind.” 

“Do you love France?” Pierre asked, glowing with 
pride of country. 

“As much as I hate Paris.” 

“You were in the tender, Peter?” This was no 
time to bother their heads about Paris. 

“Yes, I know, but I’m going to take the time to 
remark, just the same, that I think a vacation must 
mean more to a hard-working surgeon than to any- 
body else under heaven. Well, just a little while after 
we left the ship’s side we were under the lee of the 
low French forts and soon abreast of an old hulk 
of a wreck stranded for many a year just outside the 


TWO OF A KIND 65 

Cherbourg sea-wall. It lies with its prow high in the 
air, just a vestige of green and blue paint still streaking 
its port side. Perched here and there in comfortable 
chairs in its nooks and crannies, sat the same old fish- 
ermen apparently that I had seen before. It seemed 
as though they might have been sitting there, through 
all weathers, since I last sailed into the harbor. They 
seldom land a catch but I doubt if they care. The 
tender passed close enough for me to distinguish the 
faces of two or three of them, and they looked placid 
and contented enough — as though at their age it was 
even more satisfactory just to pretend to be doing 
something than to do it. Then, as the tender made 
its way through the narrow gateway of the sea-wall, 
the same boys were turning handsprings along the 
coping and crying out for the centimes I was jingling 
in my pockets. I recognized more than one of them 
and they evidently remembered me. Then in a little 
while the tender tied up to her wharf, and a small army 
of porters came aboard. You can’t imagine such a 
motley-arrayed company, Pierre, patch lapping patch 
(brand new, light blue, or faded to a grayish white, 
according to length of service) on their blouses and 
trousers, till sometimes not a trace of the original re- 
mained. At last we were all safely landed, and after 
a very long wait in the railway carriages the guard 
gave a little toot on some tiny kind of a whistle, the 
engineer responded with a tiny squeak from his engine, 
and the train was off. I stood up for a while in the 
passage-way so as to have a good look from its wide 


66 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


windows at the Cherbourg washerwomen. There they 
were, as always before, lined along the river bank, 
each one kneeling on a narrow plank running down into 
the shallow water, scrubbing and rubbing away with 
arms bared to the shoulder and skirts pinned back 
securely. Some of the lighter-hearted glanced up and 
smiled as the train passed. 

“Once out of Cherbourg we put on greater speed 
and then came the joy of your French landscape, un- 
like any other landscape in the world. Here and there 
a stone farmhouse with its tiled roof, and a high wall 
inclosing its flower garden, but with its farm-land 
stretching away in unfenced acres. Sometimes a little 
stream shaded with pompon willows marking the bor- 
derland between farm and farm, or a row of Corot- 
like trees, in luxuriant leafage at the top, but with all 
the lower branches long ago pruned away for firewood. 
You never see that in America where we have plenty 
of trees. Corot, Pierre,” anticipating Pierre’s ques- 
tion, “was a great French painter who has made us 
Americans familiar with the French landscape and 
has taught us to love it. Then in every direction on 
either side of the train the white roads waving away 
like ribbons, skirting poppy-filled fields of standing 
grain, or grain garnered and gathered into stylish little 
sheafs — for even your haystacks here in France have 
a Frenchy air. I stood just feasting my eyes upon 
it all, until at last, realizing that it would feel rather 
good to sit down, I stowed myself away in the seat 
in the railway carriage, wishing from my heart that 


TWO OF A KIND 


67 

I might have had it all to myself and that the railway 
company would pay a little attention to the cleaning 
of the windows. At five o’clock we trundled into 
the Paris depot. On the station platform I stood stock- 
still and watched a thrilling greeting between a woman, 
who had been one of my fellow passengers on the 
steamer, and a man who had come to meet her. Such 
a demonstration of unbounded joy because separa- 
tion was at an end I have never seen. Pierre, I own 
I looked on with a heartache. It’s great to have some 
one like that waiting for you at a journey’s end.” 

“I was waiting for you, Peter, only I didn’t know 
it and you didn’t know it either.” 

“The more’s the pity,” and Peter, wondering if 
Pierre would consider it an indignity if he gave him a 
good hard hug, concluded that he would. 

“Go on,” commanded Pierre, and Peter meekly 
did as he was bid. 

“Well, I spent the night in noisy Paris, a hot and 
stifling night, and the next morning I took the train 
de luxe and traveled all day, and at sunset I looked 
out on the rocky cliffs yonder along Lake Bourget, 
and then in a few minutes we were at the grimy Aix 
station. At the Grand Hotel they were ready to wel- 
come me. Laurence, the big porter, was at the door 
of the coach. On the steps outside the junior proprie- 
taire (who presides in a corner of the salle a manger 
over the carving and those shining silver chafing dishes, 
you must have noticed) , and just at his elbow good 
Alexandre (who knows so well how to serve the good 


68 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


things those dishes contain), smiling a respectful wel- 
come. Franciline, who always looks after my room, 
beamed down upon me from the first gallery of the 
rotunda, and, best of all, Tante Lucia hurried toward 
me with extended hands and a face ‘wreathed in 
smiles.’ I think she might have been almost as dem- 
onstrative as the woman at the Paris station but for 
her sense of propriety. It took me just one half-hour 
to stow away my belongings in my bedroom, and now 
it is, hurrah! for beautiful Savoy and utter freedom 
for weeks to come. Here’s to your health, my new old 
friend, and all the happy days that lie ahead of us,” 
and together they drained their glasses of limonade 
to the dregs. 

“I hope you won’t mind much, Peter,” which was 
a frequent phrase with Pierre, born no doubt of his 
kindness of heart, “I hope you won’t mind, but I am 
afraid you have told me quite a great deal about your- 
self.” 

“No, I don’t mind at all. As you said, you did 
have to have some sort of a start.” 


CHAPTER FIFTH 


THE FRIENDSHIP GROWS 

Oh wise yet boyish friend of mine! 

What true philosophy is thine! 

— L. M. Ward. 

A nother one of the fine walks that ‘‘happening 
to see Peter” brought about, was over the An- 
neqr road to Grezy. They had not gone far before 
they passed a man comfortably stretched at full 
length, sound asleep on one of the wayside benches. 
On the ground beside him stood an empty wine bot- 
tle and a glass, just as he had carefully placed them 
there, and this, fortunately, is about as near as you 
come to drunkenness among the working people. A 
little farther on they met a yoke of stunning, tan- 
colored oxen, with coats as smooth as suMe, and each 
with a becoming decoration in the shape of a knotted 
tan-colored fringe fastened from horn to horn and 
overhanging their mild, beautiful eyes. They were 
“heeling” as obediently as two trained setters behind 
their master, who, with hands in his pockets, went 
whistling down the center of the road. In one of 
69 


70 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

the fields a peasant woman was at work, turning over 
lately mown grass to the sun. Atop of a marvelous 
white-frilled cap she wore a ridiculous bonnet. Too 
devoted to the old ways to abandon the cap and anx- 
ious to prove familiarity with the ways of the world, 
the peasant women everywhere in that part of France, 
even when at work in the fields, don the bonnet, a 
homely affair tied under the chin, which spoils all 
their picturesqueness, and, if they did but know it, is 
not at all in the fashion. Peter called Pierre’s at- 
tention to the foolish headgear and made him see the 
absurdity of it. His own Grandmother Sainton, he 
remembered, had one very much like it, and he 
straightway resolved that some day he would put one 
on top of the other on his own head and try to show 
her how ridiculous it really was. 

So, interested in one thing and another, they covered 
the three miles that led to the Gorge du Sierroz. The 
gorge is simply a great crack in a meadow concealed 
by a low growth of bushes fringing its edge, so that 
you can take the path that runs near it without even 
knowing it is there. The path leads you to a sort of 
gate-house, the home of the keeper, where you buy 
your tickets of his wife, and then with his little daugh- 
ter, an entirely superfluous guide, make your way out 
through the door at the back. There you are con- 
fronted by the picturesque old mill of Grezy, and, 
having looked in on its dusty, quaint machinery, 
you come out on a balcony from which you gain a 
view of a pretty waterfall and of what the local guide- 


THE FRIENDSHIP GROWS 


71 

book — translated from the French Into a kind of Eng- 
lish — calls ‘‘a little funeral memorial.” The memo- 
rial consists of a slab of white marble which tells you 
that on this spot the Baroness Broc, aged twenty-five 
years, advancing without precaution, perished before 
the eyes of her friend. Queen Hortensia, the loth of 
June, 1813. And then the little funeral memorial 
turns to the living with this appealing entreaty: 

“You who are visiting this abysm be cautious. 

Think of those who love you.” 

Pierre was deeply affected and, looking up to Peter, 
exclaimed tragically: “Wasn’t it dreadful?” 

“Yes, indeed, very dreadful.” 

“But why do you smile a little?” for nothing escaped 
him. 

“Oh, because I was thinking that in America we 
would hardly call a cleft like this, in the midst of a 
lovely meadow, an abyss, which means with us a fear- 
fully deep sort of place. We should not think this 
high enough to be called a gorge, either. Would you 
call a place like this a gorge up in Chamonix?” 

“No, it really isn’t big enough, but I don’t happen 
to know of any French word for a thing of this size. 
Have we as many words as you English?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know, but you have a lot of splen- 
did little — what shall I call them — sort of tricks of 
phrases for which there are no English words at all.” 

“I’m glad I’m French.” 


72 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“Pm thankful Pm an American, but Pm glad I 
know enough French to be friends with you.” 

“Could we be better friends if I knew English?” 

“What do you think?” 

“I don’t see how we could be better.” 

“Neither do I.” 

Then they went on their way rejoicing, the little 
girl in the lead. They walked along a gallery partly 
hewn and partly made of scaffolding, with moss- 
covered rocks towering many feet above them, and 
the blue of the sky just visible here and there through 
the bushes growing up above at the crack’s edge. It 
really was a very pretty bit of “finery,” to quote the 
guidebook word for scenery. At the end of the gal- 
lery Peter slipped the expected coin — ^but a much larger 
one than was expected — into the eager hand of the 
little girl, and they went aboard the Christophe- 
Columbe, as tiny a boat as ever was named for a big 
man, to “embark to visit the gorge.” To embark, 
as you know, is to set out on a voyage, but the voyage 
of the Christophe-Columhe down the narrow stream 
of the Sierroz ends with the gorge, and in about five 
minutes you find yourself in the open meadow, where 
a miniature dam compels the tiny craft to make a 
landing. But none the less it is all very charming in 
its own diminutive way and they had the finest sort 
of an outing. But with the fourth day Hilaire’s turn 
came at last, for it was down on the program as a 
fete day at the Casino, and the time for the much- 
talked-of visit had come. 


THE FRIENDSHIP GROWS 


73 

“Wouldn’t you like to go with us?” Peter had asked 
Tante Lucia. 

“Oh, no, I have no wish,” and then she had thought 
better of it, and added, “I believe I will go, since 
you are so good as to ask me. I have almost forgotten 
what it Is like In there, and it will be a pleasure to be 
with you and the children.” 

So at two that afternoon they fared forth, a little 
party of four. Hilaire had laid aside her peasant 
costume. She had realized for the first time the 
afternoon of their visit to Tante Lucia that the dress 
that seemed a part of her flower selling, and which 
was. In truth, a very attractive part, was conspicuous 
anywhere else. Pierre, too, was In his Sunday best. 
Indeed, there had been no black blouse in any of his 
walks with Peter. He seemed suddenly to come to 
the conclusion that It was quite beneath his dignity. 

Passing through the garden, they went at first into 
the building known as the Grand Cercle, and Tante 
Lucia stared about her with quite as much curiosity 
and Interest as the children. They peered Into the 
curtained darkness of the theater, and, after making 
the rounds of the large salon, sat down In the com- 
fortable wicker chairs of the concert-room to listen to 
the stringed orchestra called the Septour. It was to 
these afternoon concerts that many of the people came 
of whom Tante Lucia approved — the people who 
didn’t care “for the other part at all.” But the other 
part was in full swing; and occasionally when the voice 
of the tourneur rose above the softer strains of the 


74 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

music, Peter was conscious of considerable restlessness 
on the part of the children, and, when he asked, “Have 
we had enough of this?’’ they were on their feet in an 
instant. Peter led the way to the main hall where 
the game was in progress. It is called Les Petits 
Chevaux and is played with a ball, but formerly little 
lead horses went careering round the circle. Men 
and women elbowing each other stood two and three 
deep about the table, but in the alcove of one of the 
windows there was an open space in which our little 
party was able to stow itself away and at the same 
time have a good view of what was going on. One 
man was kind enough to offer Tante Lucia a chair, 
but the shake of the head with which she replied, 
“Non, merci,” made him plainly understand that she 
was not one of those who would deign to play that 
foolish game. Indeed, she had had enough of it al- 
most immediately, and, with an old friend who had 
paused beside her, soon strolled back to listen to the 
music. But to Hilaire and Pierre it was all immensely 
absorbing. The tourneur who presided over the table 
was a big, burly looking fellow with a musical voice, 
and it simply fascinated them to watch him standing 
there like an automaton, save for a frequent sidelong 
glance sweeping the table from end to end, and to 
hear him call out in a crisp, business-like way over and 
over again, as game followed game, “Faites vos jeux, 
messieurs. Le jeu est fait. Rien ne va plus.” There 
was some strange fascination about this particular 
tourneur, for many people who care nothing at all 


THE FRIENDSHIP GROWS 


75 

for the game would often stand nearly a half hour 
at a time just to listen to him. He was so completely 
master of the situation, imperiously ordering “Make 
your play, gentlemen,” then announcing in such solemn 
fashion, “The play is made,” and then sending the 
little ball spinning on its way, with the ^^Rien ne va 
plus** that means joy to some and chagrin to others. 

By close watching Hilaire and Pierre soon caught 
the idea of the game, and Peter, to whom it was all 
a great bore, was relieved enough when at last they 
plainly showed that their interest was beginning to 
flag. As they turned from the table, two women, with 
eyes and thoughts for ncTthing but the game they were 
about to take a hand in, slipped into their places, the 
older into the vacant chair that had been proffered 
to Tante Lucia. Pierre stood transfixed, for they were 
his enemies of the Salle a Manger. Peter and Hilaire 
also came to a halt. The women started in with the 
assurance of accustomed players, and they were both 
apparently very fortunate. But presently their luck 
changed and, when Pierre turned to Peter with a 
“Let’s go,” it was with a funny little smile of evident 
satisfaction that things were not going so well with 
them. 

“Well, I’m very glad to know at last what it’s like,” 
said Hilaire, as they turned away. 

“But I hope to goodness you don’t like it,” said 
Pierre. “It seems to me a miserable business,” and 
Peter was delighted at the warmth with which Pierre 
spoke. “Nq wonder those two women are horrid 


76 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

looking, spending hours in this place staring their eyes 
out of their heads.” 

“Of course it’s a miserable business,” echoed Peter; 
“so miserable that I should think decent people would 
leave it alone and not play now and then for the fun 
of it, as they say.” 

“It isn’t like a real game anyway, Peter, where you 
just pitch in and fight to win. It’s all luck,” and 
Pierre’s disgust was evident. “I was perfectly cer- 
tain you were not the kind to care for it,” Peter re- 
marked with quiet confidence, and Pierre drew himself 
up and felt an inch taller. It’s delightful to have one’s 
virtues taken for granted. But by this time it was 
three o’clock. The concert was over. A brass band 
was playing gayly on the terrace and at half-past three 
the fete was to commence. So, hunting up Tante Lucia, 
whom they found sitting alone, serene and contented, 
they set out together to find a good place from which 
to view it. As Hilaire slipped her arm into Tante 
Lucia’s, she whispered: 

“How is it you always look so happy when you 
are left to yourself?” 

“Because then I have a chance to live over happy 
things — I don’t choose to live over the sad things. 
It’s a way I have. Some people laugh at me for it. 
Things of long ago seem unreal to them, but real once 
means real always to me unless something happened 
afterward that makes it best not to think about them. 
But much of the time, Hilaire, I’m not just living over 
— I’m living Over Yonder. The next thing, you know. 


THE FRIENDSHIP GROWS 


77 


always interests one immensely, and the next thing for 
me will be the next world. So when there’s a chance 
I let myself go and dream about it. It will be a great 
day when the dream comes true.” 

Hilaire did not answer, thinking what a sad day it 
would be for some other people. 

Peter and Pierre had secured a bench on one of 
the walks just in time, for crowds were beginning to 
sweep into the garden, and the procession which was 
to form part of the fete would begin in a few mo- 
ments to thread its way along the paths. Xante Lucia, 
raising an old flowered parasol, settled herself with 
delight in a corner of the seat, for she had still a 
keen relish for the next things of this world, even if 
they had lost a little of their importance. They had 
no sooner taken their places than Pierre discerned his 
friends, the enemy, seated on a similar bench on a 
path not far away. It seemed that the Fete had 
charms to lure even them from Les Petits Chevaux. 
Lying on the ground behind the seat were the two 
bull terriers of which Pierre had caught a glimpse the 
afternoon of the visit to the pergola. Safely tethered 
by their leashes to the back of the bench, both to all 
appearances lay sleepily blinking in the sunshine, when 
lo ! in a flash they were all in a heap, engaged in a 
formidable head-on collision not in any wise to be 
accounted for. Possibly some long cherished grudge 
flashed itself across their minds at precisely the same 
moment. Their mistress, too, was instantly on her feet 
in an effort to separate them and succeeded, but not 


78 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

until she had parted company with a portion of her 
headgear. Blissfully unconscious of anything wrong, 
and breathless from the tussle, she sat down once more 
on the bench with the smaller dog in her lap, while 
his brother was left to snarl out his envious heart, 
still tethered to the back of the bench. Many people 
had watched the scene with interest, but Pierre was 
the only one who happened to notice two little dark 
objects lying on the grass in easy reach of “brother,” 
had he chanced to observe them. Darting across the 
intervening lawn, Pierre scooped them up with one 
hand before “brother,” who would have disputed his 
right of possession, knew what he was about. Then 
disappearing behind a tree he whipped out his hand- 
kerchief and had the little dark objects safely confined 
within it in a trice, its four corners firmly tied together. 
He made his way back to the bench and, standing at 
its end, thrust the handkerchief and its contents down 
behind the back of the dog as he lay curled up in the 
lap of his mistress. 

“They belong to you,” he said in a stage whisper, 
looking straight ahead. “I don’t know what you call 
them. Nobody saw.” And then he vanished. 

“What does he mean?” she said to the older woman, 
who leaned back to investigate. 

“He means that two of your puffs are missing.” 

“ParbleuI Lend me your sunshade,” and, thrusting 
Pierre’s handkerchief with its contents into her little 
handbag, which no longer seemed very full, and 
swiftly untying the dogs, she stalked away with th^ 


THE FRIENDSHIP GROWS 


79 


parasol jammed tightly down over her head, the two 
leashes coming out from under its lower edge where 
it touched her back, and the terriers heeling in very 
hang-dog fashion, as though well aware of something 
ominous in the air. Hilaire, as she watched Pierre’s 
movements, imagined what had happened, but it all 
had to be explained to Peter. 

“Well, I think it was mighty kind of you, Pierre,” 
he said when he understood the situation. 

“I think it was myself. Perhaps I wouldn’t have 
been so kind if I had stopped to think,” mused Pierre 
demurely. 

“Then it looks as though sometimes it were best to 
be thoughtless,” said Peter, speaking slowly. “I own 
that’s a new idea to me. I presume you French chil- 
dren have had it dinned into you just as I did in my 
boyhood, that it is best to think before you act. And 
yet by your own admission if you had stopped to think 
you might not have acted. Of course, you have to be 
pretty fine-grained to do a really magnanimous thing 
without thinking.” 

Pierre glanced up gratefully, Peter had such a nice 
trick of tucking in little compliments sideways. 

“But if I had stopped to think, and so had not done 
it, what then?” 

“Why, then nothing would have been said about 
fine-grained. There would have been no occasion.” 

“Did she thank you, Pierre?” asked Hilaire. 

“She didn’t hav^ th^ chance. She did not really 


8o LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


know what had happened. She wouldn’t have, any- 
way. She’s not that sort.” 

“I wonder if she will return the handkerchief,” said 
Tante Lucia dryly. 

“Indeed she will not,” replied Hilaire, who was 
fast gaining a knowledge of woman-nature. “She 
would never do anything that would bring any morti- 
fying experience to mind.” 

“But, Hilaire,” and Pierre’s tone was one of real 
distress, “it was one of the two you embroidered for 
me with the three initials in the corner.” 

“All the same she will keep it, but you shall have 
a whole half-dozen more like it for Christmas.” This 
was naturally very appeasing, but Pierre was bent on 
cherishing reasonable hope that it would some day 
come back. 

There was no time now, however, for discussing 
probabilities. The head of the children’s procession 
was in full view, and a few seconds later it com- 
menced to file past. It was a continuous array of 
every kind of miniature and fairy-like contrivance that 
could be made to get over the ground on wheels. 
One was drawn by a well-matched team of goats; an- 
other by two huge St. Bernard dogs driven tandem; 
and a third by a four-in-hand made up of four-year- 
old humans, all of them high-steppers and resplendent 
in gold braid harness. There were three or four 
tiny automobiles, whose chauffeurs were kind enough 
to walk behind, which was really necessary for more 
reasons than one. Here and there some gayly capari- 


THE FRIENDSHIP GROWS 8i 

soned little knight or lady rode a real live pony. 
Every conveyance carried its full complement of pas- 
sengers, a merry, beribboned, flower-crowned company 
of happy boys and girls such as it was a joy to look 
upon. When the parade had wound its length along 
to the platform where the prizes were to be distributed 
to the winners, Peter took his little party over to the 
open-air music hall of the Villa des Fleurs, the second 
enchanted palace within the Casino grounds. An acro- 
batic performance was in progress, and while they 
watched it they were served with ices, brought them by 
one of the attractive waitress-ushers, with a stylish blue 
bow atop of her head. After the French manner of 
making everything very convenient for eating and 
drinking, the back of the seats in front of them had a 
little shelf running along it. When they had had 
enough of the vaudeville, they made the tour of The 
Villa des Fleurs, gazing about them in admiring won- 
der at all the gold and crystal of the elaborate decora- 
tions ; and then, at Pierre’s request, they went back to 
the Grand Cercle to listen for just a few moments more 
to the big tourneur. But he was not in evidence. A 
slight little Frenchman with a waxed mustache had 
taken his place and the game no longer held a vestige 
of interest for any of them, so it was back to the hotel 
for Tante Lucia and Peter, and up the hill home for 
Hilaire and Pierre. Before leaving Peter they tried 
their best to thank him for all the pleasure of the 
afternoon, but that they felt they made poor work of 
it was very apparent. Peter relieved the situation. 


82 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


“Don’t bother to say a word,” he said. “You’ve 
shown you’ve enjoyed it and showing is worlds better 
than a lot of talking.” 

“It was very kind in Pierre to pick those things 
up,” said Tante Lucia half to herself, as Peter helped 
her up the steps of the hotel. 

“That sort of thing is born in some boys,” he an- 
swered. “I had a paper from home yesterday that 
told of a little fellow who tackled a snarling dog that 
had set the whole street in a panic. He called out, 
‘You all get away. I’m not afraid,’ and not till every 
child and grown person was out of reach did he relax 
his hold and spring over a fence to a place of safety. 
And not then until the dog had twice buried his teeth 
in his arm. Oh, yes, there isn’t any doubt but there’s 
a strain of splendid chivalry in many of the little fel- 
lows of the world and in some big ones, too, for- 
tunately.” 

“I’m so glad you know the children,” said Tante 
Lucia, as she turned away. 

“They’ll make the best summer yet for me,” was 
Peter’s reply. 


CHAPTER SIXTH 


A FELLOW TRAVELER 

Let us turn to where Chamouny shields. 

Bosom’d in gloomy woods, her golden fields, 

Five streams of ice amid her cots descend 
And with wild dowers and blooming orchards blend 
Here lawns and shades by breezy rivulets fann’d. 

Here all the Seasons revel hand in hand. 

— Wordsworth, 1793. 

P IERRE was seated in the railway carriage rather 
heavy-hearted. He would be glad enough to 
see the dear old Saintons, and his face lighted up with 
the thought, and of how glad they would be to see 
him; but the bother of it was, his visit was over, and 
it had been such a marvel of a visit. Hilaire had seen 
Pierre aboard the train but had had to hurry away 
to be in time to arrange her flowers; and it was nat- 
ural enough that sitting there waiting in the gloomy 
Aix station should make him feel both lonely and 
impatient. If he had to turn his back on Aix, he 
was anxious to get under way and have it over with. 
There was a pile of luggage on one of the seats of 
the compartment that made him feel more lonely still. 
He thought it looked like a grumpy man’s luggage. 

83 


84 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

There was no rose-color for him anywhere that morn- 
ing until — he suddenly saw Peter, crowding past the 
porters and passengers, and coming directly toward 
him. The guards had not yet closed the doors of 
the carriages, and Pierre called out: 

“Did you come just to see me off?” 

“Who else?” and Peter stepped aboard and dropped 
into the seat opposite Pierre’s. The guard came along 
and banged the doors. 

“But, Peter, you’ll be carried off I” trying to push 
the door open. 

“I want to be carried off.” 

“All the way to Chamonix?” 

“All the way.” 

Tears of happiness which he did not try to hide 
stood in Pierre’s eyes, and Peter looked straight into 
them, as he said: 

“Sometimes there are tears in my eyes, too. Little 
Brother, and not always for gladness.” 

For a full half minute Pierre looked straight back 
at Peter in perfect silence in a way that means there 
are no words great enough, and then he looked away, 
shy and humbled. What a wonder that such a great 
man should so confide in such a little fellow, and 
Pierre bounded on to his lap and had his arms about 
his neck in a rough, boyish hug. Then, with a hand 
on each of Peter’s shoulders, he pushed back and 
looked him squarely in the face once more. There 
was something very deep and dark in Peter’s eyes. 
Pierre knew what it was and loved him for it. 


A FELLOW TRAVELER 85 

“But you ought to have told me, Peter,’* he said 
accusingly, as he slipped back into his seat. 

“Forgive me, Pierre, it was such a pleasure to sur- 
prise you.” 

“And is this your luggage? Do you know I thought 
it looked like a grumpy man’s luggage, and I hated to 
have him come into the carriage.” 

“Sometimes Pm grumpy, very grumpy indeed.” 

“So is everybody, I guess, who feels things. I 
meant the kind that’s always grumpy. But isn’t it 
great to think you’re going home with me. Pm glad 
you’ve never been to Chamonix. You don’t know 
Mont Blanc till you see him from our valley.” 

“And Pm glad that you will be the one to intro- 
duce me.” 

And then both settled back comfortably to enjoy 
looking out of the windows and to talk or be silent, 
as the spirit moved them. But it was really impossible 
to be actually silent long at a time, especially after 
they had made the change to the train that commenced 
the climb to Chamonix. The railroad threads its way 
up along the ledges of the mountains and across high- 
arched viaducts bridging the ravines, with such mag- 
nificent views on either side that the surprise and 
beauty are fairly overwhelming. Peter simply went 
wild over it, to Pierre’s unbounded pride and delight. 

Up at Chamonix it had been the longest June on 
record as far as some good people were concerned. 
Mademoiselle Helene had not found the friendship of 
the Doctor and Jacques Balmat at all exhilarating. 


86 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


Once or twice she had tried to consult them, seated 
with folded arms, gazing at them with frowning con- 
centration, but she saw people smiling at her, as though 
aware of the imitation, and fled. Besides there did 
not seem to be anything in it for her anyway. 

One morning, therefore, without consultation, other 
than with her looking-glass as to her toilet, she resolved 
upon action. Armed with pocketbook and alpine stick, 
for there was no telling where walks might end in 
Chamonix, she fared forth to the Rue Nationale. 
Once there it was but a little distance to the point 
of attack, but her heart beat fast and she came to a 
full stop a few feet short of it. She hid her emotion 
by peering into a shop window and pretending to be 
all absorbed in what she saw there, but she did not 
see a thing. There was no need to pretend. In that 
busy street, thronged with tourists coming and going, 
no one took any notice of her whatsoever. Every 
faculty, however, was concentrated in an effort to get 
her courage up to the sticking point. Suddenly some- 
thing seemed to warrant her in letting herself go, and, 
to her own surprise, she found herself landed within 
the Saintons’ little store. 

Madame Sainton nodded cordially to Helen, won- 
dering if she were not the little girl with whom Pierre 
had struck up a friendship. She was busy with a 
customer in a search down the shelves for an old 
guidebook which he greatly desired, and which she 
felt sure would come to light somewhere. And 
Helen, glad to have a chance to calm down after 


A FELLOW TRAVELER 87 

her sudden raid, moved about looking at the photo- 
graphs of all that peerless region, delighted meanwhile 
to find her heart beginning to beat quite normally once 
more. There really was no reason for so much agita- 
tion, but she was ever a prey to It. When anything 
occurred to her as In Itself desirable, a plucky determi- 
nation would make her set about achieving it, though 
a perfect horror of possibly seeming forward would 
often rob her of her nerve just when she had most 
need of It. Still she had learned from experience that 
she must just discount this mental perturbation and 
resolve to put things through whether or no. In the 
matter of this visit to the Saintons she feared It might 
really seem quite forward, but Pierre had been away 
longer than he planned, and If he were not coming 
back she wished to know it. Of all nerve-racking 
experiences that of uncertainty was the very worst 
to her little ladyship. She had not been favored with 
what might be called a patient temperament. So, 
having made up her mind that know she must, there 
seemed to be nothing for It but to seek out Pierre’s 
grandparents and put her question. Of course, stroll- 
ing Into a store that was open to everybody was not 
like having to ring their doorbell. Still, made as she 
was, it was difficult enough ; and, indeed, it is just this 
being made as we are that makes things difficult for 
most of us. The same conclusion, you remember, 
that Hilaire and Pierre came to that morning in the 
flower market, when Pierre had such a horribly hard 
time owning up that he was sorry. 


88 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


But fortune continued to favor Helen, in postpon- 
ing the moment when she would have to declare the 
object of her visit. The customer, happy in the lucky 
possession of the last copy of the coveted guidebook, 
was just leaving, when an elderly man pushed past 
him into the store carrying a great bunch of Alpine 
roses. With a few words, too low for Helen to hear, 
and which in any case she would have contrived not 
to hear, he pressed them into the hands of Madame 
Sainton, who received them with grateful delight and 
many blushes. Then, after a few more hurried words, 
he pulled out his watch and was gone. 

“Now, how shall I commence?” thought Helen, 
knowing that her hour had come. But Madame did 
the commencing. 

“That was my husband, dear,” she said, putting the 
roses in a glass pitcher and seeming to feel that the 
blushes called for an explanation. 

“Was it?” said Helen with evident astonishment. 

“Are you surprised?” 

“Yes, a little.” 

“Why?” 

“Because a great many husbands are not like that.” 

“The more’s the pity, I think. It’s because their 
wives take everything they do for them for granted. 
Why, I’m just as pleased to-day when Herbert brings 
me a flower as the first time he ever gave me one, but 
you would think any one so old would get over blush- 
ing, now, wouldn’t you?” 

“It’s nicer not to,” said Helen, and then there came 


A FELLOW TRAVELER 


89 

quite a pause. “Is your husband coming back soon?” 
she asked, feeling that her next question must be 
about Pierre. 

“Oh, yes, in a few minutes. He has just stepped 
over to the station — he heard the whistle of the in- 
coming train before he started — to meet our little 
foster grandson who has been away six weeks and 
more. Can I do anything for you before they come?” 
But there was no “before,” because that Instant Pierre 
came bounding In at the door, followed by Peter. 
For several seconds there was just one medley of 
happy greetings, for scarcely any introducing was nec- 
essary. Peter, of course, knew all about the Saintons, 
and Pierre’s letters had, of course, been full of Peter. 
Helen stood a little on one side, and when Pierre dis- 
covered her you may be sure she was gladly welcomed. 

“Did you plan to be here to meet me?” he asked 
eagerly. 

“Oh, no, not at all.” 

Pierre looked at her. The Eternal Feminine can 
be exasperating at almost any age. He thought Helen 
could have spoken the truth without so completely 
taking the edge off things for a fellow. But he 
scorned to harbor any resentment. It would not have 
been easy, anyway, for she looked adorable that June 
morning. In a tan-colored, black-belted Russian blouse 
and a wonderfully becoming hat. 

“This is Helen, Peter,” said Pierre proudly. “IVe 
told you, you know, about Helen.” 

“Yes, indeed,” said Peter, taking her two hands in 


90 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

his. “I understand you are a little country-woman 
of mine.” 

“Do you live in New York?” she asked, looking him 
up and down and betraying her approval. 

“Yes, do you?” betraying his in turn. 

“Yes, but I never saw you before. Why does Pierre 
call you Peter?” 

“For the same reason I hope you will some day. 
Because we are very good friends.” 

“But who are you, really?” 

“Well, madamoiselle, since you insist, I would have 
you know I am Peter Alwyn, M. D.” And Peter 
folded his arms and drew himself to his full height. 

“Pve often heard of you.” 

“You surprise me.” 

“Aren’t you a great surgeon?” 

“Yes, I am a surgeon, mademoiselle, but how do 
you happen to know of me?” 

“Because I am Helen Jones, and my father is Doc- 
tor Willis Jones, and all the doctors know of you.” 

“And their families, too, it seems, which is very 
gratifying. And I have heard of your father, Helen. 
Will you let me meet him some day?” 

“He will be very proud to meet you. Doctor Al- 
wyn.” And it crossed Peter’s mind that here was one 
American child at least whose manners seemed quite 
faultless. 

“Wouldn’t it do as well,” Pierre broke in at this 
point with a good deal of entreaty in his voice, “to 
speak in French? When you’ve introduced two of 


A FELLOW TRAVELER 


91 

your friends to each other you would like to know 
what they’re talking about.” 

“We beg your pardon, Pierre.” And Helen liked 
Peter’s friendly “we.” “It was so fine to see some one 
from home that we just dropped into our native tongue 
without knowing it, which was very rude of us. Don’t 
you think so. Miss Helen?” 

“It certainly was,” Helen replied in French. “We 
must not forget again. Monsieur Peter.” 

Whatever their English had been they had evidently 
gotten on pretty well, and forthwith there was an in- 
scrutable little frown on Pierre’s face. He wondered 
how he was going to enjoy sharing this new friend of 
his. At any rate — and this he realized with some 
satisfaction, shame upon him^ — a girl would just nat- 
urally be excluded from many of the daring and de- 
lightful outings which he and Peter had planned, with 
the help of a Baedecker, coming up in the train. Boys 
can be meaner than the Eternal Feminine on occasion. 
All this while the old Saintons had stood looking smil- 
ingly on. English or French, nothing mattered to 
them now that they had Pierre safe at home once 
more. 

“I wish we had a less humble little place and that 
you could stay with us,” said Madame Sainton as 
Peter reached for his handbag. 

“If humble is what you call it, then humble lis 
what I like,” Peter answered warmly, as he peered 
through an open door into a most inviting little room 
with the table set for supper, “I think I shall spend 


92 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

a lot of time here if you will let me, and some day 
perhaps you and your husband will go off for an all- 
day outing and let me wait on the store.” 

“And I’ll come help you,” Helen chimed in. “It 
would be the best fun ever.” 

“That won’t be necessary at all,” explained Pierre. 
“Two are all that are needed.” 

“But, if I came you could go for the outing, too,” 
said Helen, not taking the hint. 

“Oh, no, I couldn’t, because one of the family is 
always needed in the store.” 

“Some day we will shut the store up altogether and 
all go for an outing,” said Madame Sainton, shrewdly 
ending the discussion. She knew Pierre like a book, 
which means, I suppose, that she had read him through 
and through, and so was well aware of a jealous streak 
in his make-up. She was often amused to see what 
little things would bring it to the fore, but it did not 
trouble her. Pierre had a very warm heart and peo- 
ple who really know how to love are rather prone to 
be a bit jealous now and then. Jealousy is a bit of a 
weed that would never gain a foothold save for the 
richness of the soil. But Helen had not suspected 
any jealousy, though she did wonder if Pierre was 
quite as important as he thought he was. But all 
the same she was rejoiced that he was at home again, 
and she took her leave of them all with the prettiest 
of little curtsies, shaking hands with Madame Sain- 
ton and smiling a very grateful Merci to that lady’s 
cordial invitation to run in whenever she felt like it. 


A FELLOW TRAVELER 


93 

“What did she come in for, Granny?” Pierre asked 
instantly. 

“I don’t know. She didn’t say. Not to buy any- 
thing, I’m quite sure. I think she was just going to 
tell me when you arrived. Perhaps she wanted to 
find out why you hadn’t come home when you said 
you would.” 

“I bet you that’s it,” said Pierre, taking considerable 
satisfaction in the probability. Then, insisting upon 
carrying Peter’s bag, which was almost more than 
he could manage, he forthwith conducted him to the 
Hotel des Alpes, but a block or two away. A room 
had been reserved for Peter at the front of the house 
and Peter at once stepped out on its balcony to have 
a look about. 

“You say Mont Blanc’s right in front, Pierre?” 

“Right straight in front, but he often clouds over 
this way in the afternoon.” 

“I believe I’m not sorry. I think I would rather 
have him burst on me in all his glory in the morning.” 

“Peter, I have a great favor to ask. May I roll 
myself up in your steamer rug and sleep on your 
sofa just to-night? I want to be with you when you 
see him. Would you mind?” 

“Bless your heart, of course I wouldn’t mind. Hurry 
right away home now or they’ll never spare you to 
come back to me. I’ll come down for you when I’m 
ready to turn in.” 

He sK * * Hi * 

“You’ll speak to me before ever you stir in the 


94 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

morning. Promise me, Peter,’* were Pierre’s last 
words that night as he dropped off to sleep. 

Peter was awake before daylight. He longed to 
get up and take a look just to see if the clouds were 
still overhead, but he had given his word, and he made 
himself lie still. When there finally came a suggestion 
of light he raised himself on his elbow so as to look 
out of the windows at the. far end of the room which 
directly overhung the rushing waters of the Arve, just 
to make sure that it was clear. He made sure and 
then lay down, trying to possess his soul in patience. 
It seemed a very gradual process, that Swiss dawning, 
to Peter’s eager spirit. But at last there was a faint 
rosy glow outside, and he would wait no longer. 

“Pierre,” he called. 

There was a grunt by way of answer. 

“Pierre, I give you full warning. I’m going to ‘stir’ 
in — just — half — a — minute,” with pauses between the 
words to give Pierre a chance to blink himself awake. 
“And now I am stirring. Here I go into my dress- 
ing gown. Now I’m putting on my slippers,” and 
Pierre, knowing he must not delay another instant, 
sprang to his feet, rubbed his sleepy eyes and pro- 
ceeded to put on his shoes and wrap the rug about 
him. 

“Are you ready?” and Peter stepped out through 
one French window to the balcony, at one and the 
same moment as Pierre stepped out of the other. Then 
with folded arms they stood like statues and as silent. 
Oh, the wonder and the beauty and the glory of Mont 


A FELLOW TRAVELER 


95 

Blanc at sunrise! No one ever forgets that first 
vision, and it is better to have caught no glimpse be- 
forehand. It may be different from what you ex- 
pected, but it cannot fail to surpass all imagination. 
You may have imagined it one great, towering, iso- 
lated peak.- Instead of that the grand old mountain 
looms up like a mighty fortress, with far-reaching 
snowy battlements standing out in bold relief against 
the sky. 

Peter was grateful to Pierre for his silence. But, 
of course, a boy could not keep silent forever, so he 
finally uttered the one English word, “well,” which he 
had picked up from Peter. It had a fascination for 
him, probably because of its fine shades of meaning, 
and, as he seldom hit upon the right one, though he 
used the word constantly, Peter had many an inward 
chuckle at his expense. The “Well” with which he 
now turned to Peter was the “Well” of extreme impa- 
tience, whereas he thought he had used the “Well” that 
means simply, “Please tell me what you think of it?” 
Peter, of course, understood. 

“I think it is grand beyond words,” he answered, 
“and do you know, Pierre, somehow he seems like an 
old friend. I shall have to get nearer to him.” 

“Do you mean climb him?” 

“To the very top.” 

“May I go, too?” as though all his future happi- 
ness hung upon the answer. For to be allowed to 
make the ascent of Mont Blanc was his dream of 
dreams. 


96 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“Certainly you will go.” 

“But it costs a great deal, Peter, with the guides 
and everything.” 

“I suppose it does, but it will be worth it.” 

“Of course, we won’t think of taking Helen, she’s 
too little.” And it would have taken long for Helen 
herself to have forgiven his exceedingly superior and 
patronizing tone had she heard him. But Peter was 
not going to take this little jealous streak too seriously. 
Pierre would scorn it himself some day. Besides it 
was but another proof of his whole-hearted devotion. 

“I’ll tell you who isn’t too little,” he replied, “and 
that’s Hilaire.” 

“Oh! can we send for her?” 

“We can and we will.” 

“Peter! you are perfectly wonderful,” and Pierre 
stood lost for a moment in worshipful adoration. 
Then summarily turning his back on Mont Blanc, he 
made a hasty toilet, took French leave of Peter, and 
sped away home with the swiftness of the bearer of 
good news. That Hilaire was really to be sent for 
seemed to him almost incredible. He could hear 
Granny Sainton’s, “Well, well,” of glad surprise when 
he should tell her, for she, too, had taken to the many- 
sided English word but was infinitely more successful 
in the use of it. 


CHAPTER SEVENTH 


OFF FOR THE MER DE GLACE 

And you ye torrents dercely glad 
* ♦ * * * * * 

IVho gave you your invulnerable life. 

Your strength, your speed, your fury and your joy, 
Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam? 

And who commanded {and the silence came) 

Here let the billows stiffen and have rest. 

— Hymn Before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouni, Coleridge. 

I T is one of the bothersome things about this matter 
of living that the gladness of some folks is quite 
often the sadness of other folks, and that there is no 
help for it. Once in a while some one foregoes hap- 
piness because it would be at the cost of happiness for 
some one else. But in the ordinary run of life we 
simply take our turns at the gladness and the sadness, 
just as they come, thankful for the one and accepting 
as best we may the other. All of which has been sug- 
gested by the fact that, when Peter took himself off 
to Chamonix, to the exceeding joy of Pierre, all 
Pierre’s heavy-heartedness seemed to fall to the share 
of poor Hilaire. The coming of Peter to Aix had 
brought with it so much that was new and interesting 

97 


98 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

that she shrank from slipping back into the old monot- 
onous life again. 

What was it about Peter that got such a grip of 
everybody? It was just plain magnetism, if you know 
what that is. One thing is certain, in Peter’s case at 
any rate, that rare qualities of mind and heart lay back 
of it, combined with — but that’s just where the whole 
thing eludes us. Whatever combined with, it was 
doubtless the combination that made him magnetic. 
But, whether consciously or unconsciously, Peter could 
sometimes turn off this magnetic current and become 
the most inscrutable person you can imagine, with ap- 
parently no use for anybody. But Hilaire had never 
seen Peter in one of these off moods (she would have 
forgiven him if she had) ; and so with only the sun- 
niest recollections of four very happy weeks she settled 
down to the old routine of the long days at the flower- 
market. There was one joy, however, that never 
paled; the joy of arranging the flowers every morning. 
“Oh! Madame Bovaird, did you ever see such roses, 
such jonquils?” she would exclaim, and Madame Bo- 
vaird, whose enthusiasms for the most part lay behind 
her, would merely turn and look, which fortunately 
seemed enough to satisfy Hilaire. It’s a great thing 
to have so much enthusiasm yourself that the lack 
of it in other people cannot down you. 

And there was another pleasant variation in the 
day’s monotony. Tante Lucia had lately taken it into 
her head to come almost daily to the booth for a chat, 
so that Lawrence had brought over a wicker rocker 


OFF FOR THE MER DE GLACE 99 

to be kept for her use in the closet with the bowls for 
the flowers. Hilaire was not the only one who missed 
Peter. It was doubtless rather lonely, too, at the 
hotel. 

“I don’t know but we owe that small cousin of yours 
quite a grudge,” said Tante Lucia on one of these fre- 
quent visits. 

“Why, what has Pierre done?” laughed Hilaire. 

“He has taken Peter away from Aix, that’s what 
he’s done.” 

“Do you really think so?” 

“Why, I know so, Hilaire. Hasn’t he stayed all 
summer in Aix every year till this, contenting himself 
with little trips away by day?” 

“Why, has he?” with a world of regret in her tone. 

“Indeed he has, and he never even cared to go to 
Chamonix before, so you see it must be Pierre.” 

“I don’t wonder,” said Madame Bovaird, who had 
a way of joining in the conversation at long intervals. 
“Pierre has such a way with him.” 

“Yes, that’s exactly it,” Hilaire assented. 

“And for that matter so has Peter; so they’re a 
pair of them,” sighed Tante Lucia. “But if I knew a 
way to bring them both back to Aix I’d set about it.” 

“You couldn’t fall ill, could you?” asked Hilaire. 
“He’d come fast enough then, I warrant. He’s very 
fond of you, Tante Lucia.” 

Just then they discovered Lawrence striding toward 
them with a letter in his hand. 

“For Miss Hilaire,” he announced, “and it’s from 


100 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


Chamonix.” A letter for Hilaire sent in care of the 
hotel had evidently invited inspection. 

‘Tt isn’t from Pierre,” and Hilaire scowled over the 
address. 

“Then it’s from Peter. Let me see. Yes, that’s his 
writing,” and Tante Lucia was all excitement. Hilaire 
neatly opened the envelope with her embroidery scis- 
sors and then proceeded in a voice tremulous with 
eagerness to read: 

My dear Hilaire : 

I seem to remember having a talk with T ante Lucia one day, 
when she told me that, although you loved flowers more than 
anyone she had ever known, she thought you sometimes grew 
pretty tired of the flower-market. I remember, too, she told 
me that your mother often wished you might have more real 
good times in the course of the year. Remembering all this, I 
confidently expect but one answer to an invitation Fm about to 
give you. One week from to-day we want you to come up to 
Chamonix, and the day after that we want you to take a climb 
with us, and the day after that a longer climb still, and the 
day after that another, until we are all in training for — ^well, 
what do you suppose? — the ascent of Mont Blanc. Don’t you 
think that will be pretty fine? Four of us are going. A Dr. 
Jones from New York, whom I have met here, his daughter 
Helen, Pierre’s friend, and Pierre and myself. You will make 
the fifth. At first we thought it would not do for a tot like 
Helen to attempt it — she is only ten years old — but she is 
proving herself such an agile little body and has so much en- 
durance that her father has yielded to our entreaties and hers. 
Besides, we are going to have a lot of guides, and, if necessary, 


OFF FOR THE MER DE GLACE loi 


two of them could cross hands and carry her little ladyship now 
and then, I imagine, or even your larger ladyship, perhaps, in 
case of need. But Pierre isn’t to know about Helen until the 
time comes. Of course, we shall not think of making the ascent 
until all the weather conditions are favorable, if we wait a 
month. Only that is not likely this time of year. I should 
think you could reasonably expect to be back at Aix in two 
weeks if you have to. I hope you can easily find some one to 
look after your flowers. I presume Madame Bovaird could 
almost attend to them with a little help from Tante Lucia. 
I can just imagine Tante Lucia winning many a customer with 
that adcirable way she has of smiling over the top of her 
glasses. Madame Sainton says of course you will stay with 
her. Pierre says you are to have his room, which will give 
him a chance to curl up at night on the couch in my room 
here at the hotel, as he likes to do. That’s what he did my 
first night in Chamonix, so as to introduce me to Mont Blanc. 
And he did introduce me. I was not allowed to so much as 
lift my eyes until he gave the word. He’s as proud of Mont 
Blanc as though he owned it. And he really does own it in 
the way we all own things that give us joy. I have been asking 
a guide what you will need for the ascent and I enclose the 
list. I am writing on the balcony of my room, and Pierre, down 
below, is waving to me wildly. I know what he wants. We 
are off to the Mer de Glace this morning. Dr. Jones and 
Helen and I, and Pierre is to be our guide. As we were to 
start at seven, and it’s now five minutes after, you can under- 
stand why he is tearing his hair. Of course, you will come, 
Hilaire, but “to make assurance doubly sure,” as we say in 
English, suppose you send me a telegram as soon as you have 
had a chance to go home and talk it over with your father 
and mother. I send this to the hotel, knowing that Lawrence 


102 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


will take it right over to the flower-market and thinking to 
gain time. We want to gain time because, as Pierre said this 
morning, it seems as though we could not wait to know that 
Hilaire is coming. I presume this will reach you by the late 
afternoon mail. Like as not Tante Lucia has come over to 
the market for a little visit and she and Madame Bovaird have 
listened to this long letter. If they have, they have probably 
told you before this that they will look after the flower-booth. 

Yours “in hope,” 

Peter Alwyn. 

“Well, we haven’t, but we will,” said Tante Lucia 
at the letter’s close. 

“Haven’t what?” asked Hilaire, fairly dazed by 
the wonder of it all. 

“Told you that we would look after the booth. I 
do not know that I can be of much help, but if Madame 
Bovaird will fix the flowers in the morning I can bring 
my work over and stay a good part of the day. I 
can leave the key of the linen-room with Franciline. 
Now, wasn’t I right, Hilaire, when I told you it was 
high time you knew the Doctor?” 

“Oh, but do you suppose I can go? For this was 
one of those happenings which come sometimes to all 
of us, so far beyond anything we have imagined that 
they seem absolutely impossible. 

“You run right along home and find out and 
don’t come back this afternoon,” Madame Bovaird 
kindly urged, “but you would best be prepared for 
one thing. There is a chance that your mother may 


OFF FOR THE MER DE GLACE 103 

feel that Mont Blanc is just a bit too dangerous a 
climb.” 

‘‘Not at all,” said Tante Lucia. “You tell your 
mother from me, Hilaire, that Peter would never 
have made the plan unless he had looked into every- 
thing carefully and felt perfectly sure that it was all 
right. Besides if you don’t take any risks you will 
have very little fun in this world. All the same I don’t 
intend,” for there was a twinkle in Hilaire’s eyes that 
showed of what she was thinking, “to take my first 
ride in an automobile at my time of life.” 

Hilaire needed no urging, and, reminding Madame 
Bovaird in a whisper that this was the day for fresh 
flowers for the little blue room, flew home to her 
mother on the wings of Tante Lucia’s message, very 
hopeful indeed as to the outcome. She only wished 
she were up at Chamonix that very moment on the 
way to the Mer de Glace. 

Some other people had wished so, too, and said 
so several times over. They had started off in fine 
feather, a most congenial little company. Peter and 
Dr. Jones had already had several long walks together 
and were on a most friendly footing, and between 
Pierre and Helen there was never any dearth of things 
to talk about. 

I doubt if there is anything more delicious in the 
world than early morning in Chamonix. What with 
the beautiful River Arve flowing through it, and the 
snow-capped and pine-covered mountains watching 
over it, and the air a tonic with the breezes from the 


104 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

glaciers before the sun has climbed high enough to take 
the coolness out of them — the joy of it fairly gets 
into your bones and you know what it is to feel in fine 
feather. 

“Chamonix is pretty fine, isn’t it, Peter?” said 
Pierre as they walked side by side for a moment. 

“Yes, marvelous! How you must love it.” 

“Don’t you love it, too?” 

“Not quite the way you do, naturally. There’s a 
wonderful place in my own country I love more. Early 
morning is pretty fine at St. Huberts.” 

“St. Huberts?” 

“Yes; it’s a great, beautiful plateau with mountains 
— green clear to the top, because they are not so high 
as yours — circling it ’round so completely that you 
would almost wonder if there was any way out. And 
at night the starry dome (and never were there such 
stars) seems to rest on the crests of the mountains, 
like one bowl on another, rim to rim. I love the 
feeling then. It is as though all the world were shut 
out and you were shut in with God. The kind of 
love you have for Chamonix and I have for St. Hu- 
berts comes only from knowing a place for years and 
years like an old friend.” 

“We’ve known each other only a month, Peter,” 
Pierre sighed. 

“Well, don’t you think we’ve made pretty good 
use of our time?” 

“But I wish I had known you always.” 

“Look here, you old grumbler, what’s the matter 


OFF FOR THE MER DE GLACE 105 

with you? Suppose we had never known each other 
at all? Besides, if we have so much to show for a 
month, won’t we have a lot more to show for all the 
years that are to come?” 

“Oh, yes, I suppose we will.” But, with Peter’s 
home in the States and his in Switzerland, it did not 
look to Pierre as though the years were going to have 
very much chance. Helen called him just then, how- 
ever, to inspect the funniest sort of a red-winged insect 
that had lighted on her hand and he gave no more 
thought to such foolish regrets. 

They had decided to take the cog-railway up to the 
Mer de Glace and by this time had reached the sta- 
tion. Not many people were abroad at so early an 
hour and they had the open car to themselves, to their 
great delight. It was so much nicer to be able to 
shout to each other over this or that wonderful view, 
instead of having to speak under their breath because 
of strangers. Good breeding does hold a stiff lash 
over us sometimes, but the people who pay no heed 
to her can be pretty annoying at times. It was amus- 
ing what different things appealed to their varying 
enthusiasms. 

“Did you ever see anything so lovely?” Helen 
cried out, pointing to three well-favored cows graz- 
ing on a grassy hill-top not far away. They were 
quite spirited looking, for cows, and they did make 
an effective picture against the background of the 
snow. But Pierre, the guide, smiled an indulgent 
smile. It would never have occurred to him to go 


io6 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


crazy over cows grazing on a mountain. Accustomed 
eyes have a trick of overlooking much that is rare and 
lovely. 

Peter’s enthusiasm found glowing expression when 
they reached the point from which they looked down 
upon Chamonix, nestling in the valley of the Arve. 
It reminded him of an old engraving of Beulah Land 
in a copy of “The Pilgrim’s Progress” that had been 
given to his father by a grateful Bible class of young 
women. How he had adored the book with its heavy, 
tooled cover and shining brass clasps, little thinking 
in his boyhood that he should ever see scenes as beau- 
tiful in this world as Bunyan had dreamed of in an- 
other. Dr. Jones saved his best English for the won- 
derful rocks of the gorge of the Grippon Torrent. 
Best English and best French, however, were both 
in demand by all of them when they caught their first 
glimpse of the Mer de Glace, though Pierre could 
hardly forgive the use of any English. Young pa- 
triot that he was, he was eager to understand every 
word in praise of his beloved country. 

They had planned to spend the night at the hotel 
at Le Montenvers to enjoy the sunrise, so the first 
thing to be done was to stow away their few belongings 
in the rooms reserved for them. The next was to 
secure a guide and make their way down the path to 
the Mer de Glace. At its edge they put on over their 
shoes the coarse socks provided by the guides to keep 
you from slipping. Helen, who had, perhaps, an 
over-regard for the amenities (which, believe me, are 


OFF FOR THE MER DE GLACE 107 

worth looking up in the dictionary), demurred a lit- 
tle, the socks were so ugly. Pierre quietly made up 
his mind he would take that out of her before the 
summer was over. 

“This is really a great ice river,” she said, as with 
a grimace she pulled on the misshapen things, “and 
not a sea at all, Pierre. I wish you French wouldn’t 
exaggerate things so. It disappoints you a little to 
find a river when you expected a sea.” 

“Well, I guess Billy Windham wasn’t disappointed,” 
said Pierre with such a superior air that Helen 
scorned to ask who Billy Windham might be. 

“Of course he wasn’t,” she dared to answer. “He 
had not been told to expect miles and miles of sea.” 
Helen was perfectly right, though she spoke at a ven- 
ture, for it was in 1741 that William Windham, an 
Englishman, and his friend Dr. Pocock, taking their 
lives in their hands (at least so thought the old-time 
villagers), had started to cross the unexplored glacier. 

“How do you know he hadn’t been told?” asked 
Pierre, wondering how she had ever heard of him. 

Helen did not give him the least satisfaction. As 
you and I are aware, there wasn’t any to give. 

By this time they were well out on the glacier and 
they were all silenced by the wonder of it. Pierre 
had abundant proof that Helen was not disappointed 
now. She was not only speechless, but part of the time 
her mouth was wide open with astonishment. For mis- 
chief he would have liked to tell her she would look 
better with it closed, but forbore. “Anything but ^n 


io8 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


open mouth,” she had said more than once, when In 
their walks about Chamonix they had passed a group 
of Chamoniards agape at the passersby. But one is 
justified in almost any form of astonishment when one 
comes for the first time into close touch with a mighty 
glacier. 

From the walled embankment up on Le Monten- 
vers the Mer de Glace looks as though a river which 
had lashed itself into considerable fury under a strong 
wind had suddenly turned into ice. But, when you 
are once out on it, you find yourself in great gullies 
with the snow-covered ice towering above you, and on 
the edge of cracks and crevices deep enough to be 
terrifying, and, withal, so slippery in some places and 
so wet in others that you would part with most of 
your possessions sooner than with those same coarse 
socks the guide insisted on your purchasing. They 
spent two hours of intense interest exploring the mar- 
vels of the glacier, but none the less, when Peter finally 
asked, “What do you all say to luncheon?” they showed 
what they thought by quickening their pace toward the 
home shore. On their way back they stopped to have 
a look at the block of granite near the glacier where 
Windham — Pierre’s friend Billy — and Dr. Pocock had 
traced their names more than a hundred and fifty years 
before. Half way up the steep path Peter sat down 
and Dr. Jones, too. They told the children they 
wanted to rest a while. They wanted to, because they 
had to. They both had too many birthdays to their 
account to get up that steep climb in that high altitude 


OFF FOR THE MER DE GLACE 109 

without difficulty. It’s not a bad idea at any age to 
make yourself want to do the things you have to. But 
Dr. Jones and Peter got on very well, considering, 
and had reason to be grateful to two good, strong 
hearts doing their very best for two old fellows over 
fifty. Luncheon was eaten with a relish and immedi- 
ately afterward they spent a quarter of an hour exam- 
ining the Table of Information designed by the well- 
known engineer. Monsieur Vallot, and placed in front 
of the hotel for the purpose of answering just the ques- 
tions about the region one would naturally be inclined 
to ask. Then Pierre, acting as guide, led the way about 
the rocky ledges of Le Montenvers from one viewpoint 
to another, telling as they walked many an interesting 
tale of the chamois hunters and crystal searchers of 
the old days, which he had learned at his father’s knee. 
Of how the herds of chamois used to haunt the moun- 
tain and, venturing out on to the Mer de Glace, would 
often fall in spite of their nimble feet, headlong into 
the deep crevasses. Of how the mountain sheep, de- 
serted for a season by their shepherds, in their rock- 
girded hills of pasture, would mistake the climbers on 
the trail nearby for the shepherds returning with the 
coveted salt and crowd about them in persistent and 
annoying fashion. The little party rambled about 
for two hours more and then spent a little while ex- 
amining the small, solid, one-roomed store house 
erected in 1795 called “The Temple” and having a 
black marble slab above the door with the inscription 
la Nature.*^ It was intended to serve as a refuge 


no LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


for travelers and was an improvement on the wooden 
hut that had preceded it. A man named Desportes 
built it at his own expense. It did not in the least sur- 
prise Helen to find he was a Frenchman. Another case 
of a very big name for a small place. 

Just as they were turning back to the hotel, and 
ready enough after all their tramping, Pierre saw a 
sparkling pinpoint of brightness shining under a ledge 
of rock close beside the path, so very tiny that I doubt 
if eyes less bright than those of a crystal-searcher’s 
son would ever have discovered it. Pierre stooped to 
investigate and the next moment held aloft for all to 
see a fine little thread of rusted chain with three jewels 
hanging from it, a large pearl and two large diamonds. 
It was the work of a moment to rub off the dirt that 
encrusted the stones, and then they shone out in all 
their brilliancy. Of course, they were all very much 
excited over such a find, wondering who could have lost 
it and surprised that lying so near the path it should 
not have been discovered by some one long before. 
That it had lain in its hiding place many months, buried 
much of the time beneath snow and ice, was perfectly 
evident. That evening when they were seated ’round 
a campfire they had built out in the open, Peter re- 
marked: 

“That find of yours will be worth quite a little for- 
tune to you, Pierre, if you do not discover the owner.” 

“A little fortune would be very nice,” said Pierre 
thoughtfully, and even by the firelight they could see 
his eyes brighten with imagination of the niceness, 


OFF FOR THE MER DE GLACE in 


“But I suppose you are pretty likely to find her,” 
for Peter knew that it would not be wise for Pierre 
to be too confident. 

“Come to think of it,” said Pierre with the slowness 
of one trying to remember, “there was a printed notice 
nailed to the office of the Guide-Chef last summer 
saying that a jewel had been lost on the mule track of 
the Mer de Glace. So it will be easy enough to find 
who she is.” 

“Pm sorry,” said Helen frankly; “I wanted you to 
have it.” 

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Helen?” said 
her father. But it sounded to Helen like one of 
those things fathers say because they think they have 
to. She felt perfectly sure he was sorry too. “But in 
any case,” Dr. Jones added, “there will be the re- 
ward.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Pierre. 

“He means,” for Peter had often to be the inter- 
preter of Dr. Jones’ uncertain French, “that you will 
receive a gratuite for restoring it to its owner.” 

“A gratuite/^ and Pierre shrugged his shoulders. 
“I don’t like the idea of a gratuite 

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Dr. Jones, “you will 
have earned it and it ought to be a big one.” 

Pierre looked at Peter and Peter looked at Pierre. 
They understood each other. Helen got up and fixed 
the fire with a “fox-terrier knitting” of her eyebrows. 
What her father said seemed right enough, but she 
had not missed the exchange of glances between Peter 


112 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


and Pierre. She would think it out for herself later 
some day. Helen had a way of storing things up to 
be thought over. Meanwhile there were some things 
she wished to talk about and went on to remark that 
nothing they had seen had been quite so interesting “as 
the initials on the block of granite.” 

“You mean Windham’s?” said Pierre. 

Helen nodded and then added with a sigh: 

“I wish I knew more about him.” 

“So do I,” Peter chimed in. “He’s mighty inter- 
esting.” 

“How much do you know, Helen, anyway?” asked 
Pierre. Peter deemed his tone extremely rude, but 
surmised that more was meant than met the ear. 

“I know only what you’re going to tell me. So 
there,” Helen replied, but the English “So there” 
does not begin to hold all that Helen was able to crowd 
into the French of it. She told him in effect that “of 
course she did not really know anything, and that if 
he had not been so high and mighty about his friend 
Billy she would never have pretended that she did.” 

Pierre looked daggers at Helen but only for a 
second for he was eager to tell all that he knew about 
Windham, and he really knew quite a little. 

“Windham was an Englishman,” he began, with 
his hands clasped comfortably around one knee, after 
the manner of his sex when they are expecting to 
speak at some length and are on terms of intimacy with 
their listeners. “He was a young fellow, only twenty- 
five, when he came up here. They used to call him 


OFF FOR THE MER DE GLACE 113 

‘Boxing Windham’ in London. I suppose a fellow 
who is fond of boxing gets to be pretty hard and 
ready for anything. Windham was traveling with 
a tutor and when he was in Rome he made friends 
with several Englishmen. Afterward, when they came 
together in Geneva, they had a fine time making ex- 
cursions into the Alpine valleys. At last Billy got 
Dr. Pocock and all the rest of them into the 
notion of making a journey to explore the glaciers 
up here at Chamonix. Not a thing was known about 
them then, though a man named Scheuchzer had writ- 
ten a book about his Alpine travels twenty years be- 
fore. He must have been a funny old codger for he 
believed anything he heard. He says in his book that 
a hunter told him that if a chamois had eaten of 
the blue flower of Doronicum it was impossible to 
kill him, and that if a man ate of the roots of the 
same plant you couldn’t kill him either. But he came 
to the wise conclusion that the story about the chamois 
might not be true, because there was no such thing 
as Doronicum with a blue flower in the Alps. He 
also tells about a certain lake he saw which had a 
way of swallowing up men who happened to fall 
asleep near it because they just couldn’t help them- 
selves and were pulled right down into it and drowned. 
But the most interesting part of the book is that 
about the Swiss dragons. He said he had not hap- 
pened to have the horrible experience of seeing one 
himself, but he knew that what had been told him 
by others about their habits and looks and the places 


114 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

where they were to be found was absolutely true. 
There are ever so many pictures of these animals in 
his book.” 

“Oh I I remember seeing one of those books,” Peter 
made so bold as to interrupt. “It belonged to an 
Englishman, a friend of mine, who is a descendant 
of one of the men in Windham’s party, and I remem- 
ber, too, that he told me that Scheuchzer was actually 
a fellow of the Royal Society and that some of the 
more interesting plates in his book were paid for 
by Sir Isaac Newton. I can’t believe, though, that 
Sir Isaac Newton had much use either for the dragons 
or the pictures of them. They were horrible-looking 
fellows. The man who drew them must first have 
drawn upon a lively imagination. Still I believe that 
what he wrote, two hundred years ago and more, 
proved a very real help to the travelers who followed 
him.” 

“But you were telling about Windham and the 
glaciers, Pierre,” said Helen rather impatiently. She 
was often a bit too business-like about keeping to the 
point and hurrying things along. 

“How did I happen to wander off?” mused Pierre 
in a way that was maddening to Helen. 

“Oh! I don’t know,” she exclaimed. “It doesn’t 
matter.” Pierre thought it did and kept on thinking. 

“I know,” said Peter. “Apropos of Windham’s 
setting out for Chamonix, you naturally told us some- 
thing about the earlier Swiss explorers.” 

Helen noticed the word “naturally,” and seeming 


OFF FOR THE MER DE GLACE 115 

to feel Peter’s eyes upon her glanced up to find that 
she was not mistaken, and that they said very plainly, 
“I would try to get over that if I were you.” It was 
astonishing how many things Peter was always say- 
ing without speaking, and to what account he could 
turn just a single well-chosen word. When he said 
to Pierre “you naturally told us,” he assured him in 
kindest fashion that the little digression about Scheuch- 
zer and his dragons had come in just where it should, 
while, as you know, the same word brought Helen 
up standing and gave her one thing more to think 
over when the right time should come. The beauty 
of it was that she was not in the least angry with Peter. 
In fact, one of his most lovable traits was the per- 
fectly kindly way he had of showing up your faults, 
while at the same time he made you understand in 
some subtle way that it was because he “cared” so 
much that he longed to have you just about right. 

“I remember telling you, Helen,” Pierre resumed in 
a forgiving spirit (but he never would have resumed 
until he had in some way satisfied himself as to just 
where he branched off), “about this Windham party 
the first day I met you, when you came over and sat 
down beside me by the statue; how they had heard 
that our valley was full of brigands, and that the 
people were wild and savage, so that they started out 
from Geneva armed and all their servants armed too.” 

“Oh, yes I I remember all that perfectly,” said 
Helen, “so I really did know something about Billy, 
after all.” 


ii6 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


“No you didn’t, because I remember perfectly well 
that I didn’t tell you who made up the party.” 

“But if you told me about the party and he was 
in it I knew something, didn’t I?” 

“Yes, you knew something, but you didn’t know 
who it was about.” 

“Now look here,” said Peter, “I am going to take 
matters into my own hands, for I happen to know 
something about Windham of which neither of you 
has ever heard a word. Right here in this wallet” 
— and Peter, taking from his pocket a large leather 
envelope, began to run through its contents — “I have 
a copy of a letter, and here it is, that this same Wind- 
ham wrote to a friend of his in Geneva telling all 
about this very trip. And I took the trouble to copy 
it word for word.” 

Pierre’s eyes opened wide with wonder, for he had 
never even heard of such a letter, and he crept round 
to Peter’s side so that he might have the pleasure 
of looking over his shoulder. On his way he reached 
out for a thick short stick that was burning quite 
furiously at one end to use as a torch for Peter’s 
benefit. 

“I shan’t read it all to you,” Peter began — Pierre 
very much wished he would — “because you’d find parts 
of it dull and it would take too long. And there’s 
this bother about it; it is written in English.” You 
may believe Pierre’s face fell, and now he very much 
wished Peter wouldn’t read it at all, it would be such 
an awful aggravation. 


OFF FOR THE MER DE GLACE 117 

“But I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Peter added. “After 
I’ve read it to the others I’ll sum it up in French 
for you, Pierre.” 

“Couldn’t you sum it up first?” 

“No I couldn’t, you little gourmet. Don’t you 
think my three English listeners ought to be first con- 
sidered?” 

“I’m only half-way English,” Helen interrupted, 
being subject at times, as you may have observed, to 
an almost vicious contrariness. 

“All the same. Miss Helen, the letter is to be read 
as it is written. You see, it has been written in the 
English of 1741, and I think even your contrary little 
ladyship will appreciate its quaintness. Every noun 
commences with a capital and all the s’s look like f’s. 

“First he tells his friend,” and this, of course, Peter 
said in French so Pierre could understand, “that he 
is writing this long letter because of his friend’s re- 
quest that he should send him an account of his jour- 
ney to' the glaciers, and he speaks among other things 
of their all going armed, as Pierre has said — there 
were eight in the party and five servants — because of 
the description they had heard of the people, which 
proved to be so far from true. They set out from 
Geneva on the nineteenth of June and reached Chamo- 
nix on the twenty-first. They spent the first night 
at an inn at Bonneville, which, he says, ‘was a toler- 
able inn for Savoy as to everything but beds.’ The 
next day their route lay between the Arve river and 
the mountains, all along which they were entertained. 


ii8 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


he tells us, with a variety of fine ‘landskips.’ The sec- 
ond night they camped in a meadow near Cluses. 
And now Pm going to read you the letter itself. 

“ ‘From thence we set forward at break of day 
and passed the Arve once more over a very bad 
wooden Bridge, and after having climbed over a steep 
Mountain, where we had no small Difficulty with our 
Horses, their shoes coming off continually and they 
often running the Risque of tumbling into the Arve, 
which runs at the Bottom of the Rock, we came into 
a pleasant Valley, where we passed the Arve a fourth 
time over a Stone Bridge, and there first had a view 
of the Glaciers. We continued our Journey on to 
Chamonny, which is a Village upon the North-side 
of the Arve, in a Valley, where there is a Priory be- 
longing to the Chapter of Salanches; here we en- 
camped, and while our Dinner was preparing we in- 
quired of the People of the Place about the Glacires. 
They showed us at first the ends of them which reach 
into the Valley and were to be seen from the Village; 
these appeared only like white Rocks, or rather like 
immense Icicles, made by water running down the 
Mountain. This did not satisfy our Curiosity and 
we thought we were come too far to be contented with 
so small a matter; we therefore strictly enquired of 
the Peasants whether we could not by going up the 
Mountain discover something more Worth our Notice. 
They told us we might but the greatest Part of them 
represented the Thing as very difficult and laborious; 
they told us no-body ever went there but those whose 


OFF FOR THE MER DE GLACE 119 

business it was to search for Crystal or to shoot 
Bouquetins and Chamois, and that all the Travellers 
who had been to the Glacires hitherto had been satis- 
fied with what we had already seen. The Prior of 
the Place was a good old Man who showed us many 
Civilities and endeavored also to dissuade us; there 
were others who represented the Thing as mighty 
easy, but we perceived plainly that they expected that 
after we had bargained with them to be our Guides we 
should soon tire and that they should earn their Money 
with little trouble. However, our Curiosity got the 
better of these discouragements and relying on our 
Strength and Resolution we determined to attempt 
climbing the Mountain. We took with us several 
Peasants, some to be our Guides and others to carry 
wine and Provisions. These People were so much 
persuaded that we should never be able to go through 
with our task that they took with them Candles and 
Instruments to strike Fire in case we should be over- 
come with Fatigue and be obliged to spend the night 
on the Mountain.* And now,*’ Peter put in, looking 
over the top of the letter, “you will please notice the 
fine climbing rule we are coming to and which you 
youngsters will please bear in mind for the sake of us 
old fellows when we begin our ascent of Mont Blanc. 
Listen. Tn order to prevent those among us who 
were the most in Wind from fatiguing the rest by 
pushing on too fast we made the following Rule. That 
no one should go out of his Rank. That he who led 
the Way should go a slow and even Pace. That who- 


120 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


ever found himself fatigued or out of Breath might 
call for a Halt.’ ” Realizing that Pierre was missing 
this important suggestion along with the rest, Peter 
stopped, translated it into French and then went on 
with the letter. 

“ ‘We set out about noon the 22 nd of June and 
crossed the Arve over a Wooden-bridge. We were 
quickly at the Foot of the Mountain and began to 
ascend by a very steep path through a Wood of Fir 
and Larche Trees. We made many halts to refresh 
ourselves and take breath but we kept on at a good 
Rate. After we had passed the wood we came to a 
kind of Meadow, full of large stones and Pieces of 
Rocks that were broke off and fallen down from the 
Mountain; the Ascent was so steep that we were 
obliged sometimes to cling to them with our Hands 
and make use of Sticks with sharp Irons at the End 
to support ourselves. Our Road lay slant-ways and 
we had several Places to cross where the Avalanches 
of Snow were fallen and had made terrible Havoc; 
there was nothing to be seen but Trees torn up by 
the Roots and large Stones — Every step we set the 
Ground gave way, the Snow which was mixed with 
it made us slip and had it not been for our Staffs and 
our Hands we must many times have gone down the 
Precipice. We had an uninterrupted view quite to the 
bottom of the Mountain and the Steepness of the 
Descent joined to the Heights where we were made a 
view terrible enough to make most People’s Heads 
turn. In short, after climbing with great Labour for 


OFF FOR THE MER DE GLACE 121 


four Hours and three Quarters, we got to the top 
of the Mountain — From thence we had a full view of 
the Glacires.’ 

“Now, Peter, it seems to me,” interrupted Helen, 
“that he is trying to make out a very big story. I 
don’t see anything so terrible about the climb we’ve 
had to-day or the heights either. And, of course, 
they had sometimes to hang on with their hands just 
as they had to walk with their legs if they were ex- 
pecting to get to the top of a steep mountain and 
there was no trail to follow.” 

“All the same, Helen,” Peter replied, “it is just 
such a trail we came up, twisting and turning to avoid 
the hard places, that makes all the difference. Be- 
sides, they were explorers of an unknown region, and 
there is always an awesome streak about the unknown. 
Still I admit he is probably trying to make as thrilling 
a tale as possible. Human nature likes to get full 
credit for any sort of danger run. But one thing is 
certain, when they had succeeded in scaling those ter- 
rible heights ‘they felt abundantly rewarded.’ They 
found the glaciers, Windham goes on to say, ‘to consist 

of three large valleys that form a kind of Y The 

valleys, although at the Top of a high Mountain, are 
surrounded with other Mountains, the Tops of which 
being naked and craggy Rocks shoot up immensely 
high. Something resembling old Gothic Buildings or 
Ruines, nothing grows upon them, they are all the 
Year round covered with Snow and our Guides as- 
sured us that neither the Chamois nor any Birds ever 


122 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


went so high as the Top of them. Those who search 
after Crystal go in the Month of August to the Foot 
of these Rocks and strike against them with Pick- 
axes; if they hear them resound as if they were hol- 
low, they work there and opening the Rock they find 
Caverns full of Crystalizations. Our curiosity did 
not stop here. We were resolved to go down upon 
the Ice.’ Which ice, you understand, of course, was 
the Mer de Glace. ‘We had about four hundred 
Yards to go down, the Descent was extremely steep 
and all of a dry crumbling Earth mixt with Gravel, 
which afforded us no firm footing, so that we went 
down partly falling and partly sliding on our Hands 
and Knees. At length we got upon the Ice, when 
our Difficulty ceased, for that was extremely rough 
and afforded us good footing; we found in it an in- 
finite number of Cracks, some we could step over, 
others were several feet wide. These Cracks were 
so deep that we could not even see to the Bottom; 
those who go in search of Crystal are often lost in 
them, but their Bodies are generally found again after 
some Days, perfectly well preserved.’ ” 

“Isn’t that a funny way to put it?” Peter paused 
to remark. “It sounds as though he thought it didn’t 
much matter if you did fall into a deep crack, if you 
only could count on your body being soon found in 
good condition.” 

“You know what sometimes happens when bodies 
are lost in the glaciers and are not found, don’t you. 


OFF FOR THE MER DE GLACE 123 

Helen?” Pierre interrupted, for his English had en- 
abled him to gain an inkling of this part of the letter. 

“No. What?” and Helen shuddered in anticipa- 
tion. 

“Why, about forty years afterward they are likely 
to be discovered at the foot of the glacier.” 

“Oh, how is that possible?” with another shudder. 

“Seems to me this is pretty gruesome for a dark 
night, when we’re right on the edge of a glacier our- 
selves,” and Dr. Jones pretended to a shudder on his 
own account. 

“No, I want to know all about it,” urged Helen with 
characteristic insistence, but Pierre, taking the hint, 
said, “some other time,” in a way that Helen had to 
accept as final, and Peter went on. 

“ ‘Having remained about half an Hour upon the 
Glaciere, and having drank there in Ceremony Ad- 
miral Vernon’s Health and the Success of the British 
Arms,’ — ^All England,” Peter paused to explain, “was 
wild over Vernon in 1741, striking off medals by the 
score in honor of his victories over Spain in the West 
Indies, — ‘we climbed to the Summit, from whence we 
came with incredible Difficulty, the Earth giving way 
at every step we set. From thence, after having rested 
ourselves a few minutes, we began to descend and 
arrived at Chamonny just about Sun-set, to the great 
Astonishment of all the People of the Place and even 
of our Guides, who owned to us they thought we 
should not have gone through with our undertaking.’ 

“Now that’s all I’m going to read to-night, but I 


124 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

call it mighty interesting/’ said Peter, folding up the 
letter. 

“So of course does everybody,” Helen said warmly. 
“But doesn’t it tell anywhere about their cutting their 
initials?” for she had been on the watch for them 
from the start. 

“Never a word, but they must have cut them when 
they first got up here, because, you see, the letter 
says that when they climbed again from the glacier 
they rested just a few minutes and then began to de- 
scend — so as to get down to Chamonix before dark, 
I imagine. Besides, they probably wanted to show 
they had gotten this far all right, in case they all 
disappeared down one of those awful cracks such as 
we saw to-day and were never seen more.” 

“Well, Pierre,” said Peter, as they were walking 
back to the inn, after they had made sure that every 
spark of their camp-fire had been stamped out, “I rather 
took the story-telling out of your hands, didn’t I?” 

“Oh, that’s all right, the only bother was under- 
standing so little of it.” 

“Believe me, you shall have every word in the best 
French I can put it into, but could you be so merciful 
as to wait until to-morrow?” 

“Yes, of course I will,” Pierre replied in gallant 
fashion. But he made such quick work of undressing 
and tumbling into bed that the truly gallant thing on 
his part would have been to listen rather than to fore- 
go it. Indeed, there is no question but he would have 
disgraced himself by falling asleep immediately. 


CHAPTER EIGHTH 


COLETTE 

O farewell grief and welcome joy, 

Ten thousand times and more. 

— Old Ballad. 

T he next morning all who had stopped over 
night at the hotel were rewarded with an in- 
comparable sunrise. Peter and Pierre enjoyed a splen- 
did view, of it without getting up, for their room faced 
the east. When they had at last exhausted every 
known adjective, both French and English, Pierre 
jumped out of bed, and helping himself to Peter’s 
waistcoat began foraging in its pockets. Then he 
brought the pillows from his own cot to Peter’s. His 
intention was perfectly evident. The pillows were to 
prop them up. In his hands was the wallet containing 
the letter. Peter made room for him and he tucked 
himself away under the blankets. 

Before Peter’s coming Pierre had been a contented 
enough little fellow, living in his Happy Valley, ten- 
derly cared for by the Saintons. But with the advent 
of Peter, content took the form of rapture. It was 


125 


126 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


heaven just to be near him, and a Seventh Heaven to 
have him at any time all to himself. Speaking of 
heaven in numbers, there was really an eighth one 
for Pierre in this mountain-climbing with Peter, for 
nothing in his eyes could compare with it. To do the 
thing you love best in the company of the one you 
love best is the very crown of living for anybody. 
But as we were saying, Pierre tucked himself away 
under the blankets, and Peter, pretending to scowl, 
remarked that he supposed that his hour had come, 
for Pierre had already thrust the unfolded letter into 
his hand. 

“If you think it is going to be easy,” Peter added, 
“to translate early English at sight into juvenile French 
you are mistaken.” 

“You can do it,” Pierre replied with an air of per- 
fect confidence. “And we must not be too long about 
it, either,” Peter added, “else first thing we know Miss 
Helen Jones will come knocking at that door in no 
uncertain fashion to inquire in a rather impatient and 
business-like manner why in creation we are not up.” 

“You can do it easily enough,” Pierre replied with 
an air of perfect confidence. 

Peter really succeeded in translating the letter in 
a perfectly intelligible manner, but the French that 
was made to do service was as surprising to him as to 
Pierre, and they were in fits of laughter over it. Hap- 
pily, they had just neared its end when there came 
a knock at the door and the prophesied inquiry, with 
a suggestion of the prophesied impatience. 


COLETTE 


127 


“We will get up at once and come down as soon as 
ever we can,” Peter called back In answer. 

Helen went slowly down the stairs and tried to 
while away the time with the souvenirs on sale In 
great profusion In the hotel office. “A girl misses a 
lot of good times,” she thought rather wistfully, but 
then fortunately there were many other good times In 
which boys had no part. 

Immediately after breakfast they started for home 
by way of the mule track, pausing at an advantageous 
point on the way for one last view of the glacier. 
Far down at the foot of the trail lies the little vil- 
lage of Les Moullles. On the outer edge of the vil- 
lage and fronting directly on the trail stands a tiny 
Swiss chalet. As they came toward It Pierre was the 
first to discover a woman’s figure crouching In an 
attitude of abject despair a few yards away from the 
trail. Her arms were folded around her knees, drawn 
close up to her body, and her face was burled against 
them. Every few seconds a convulsive sob shook her 
from head to foot. Pierre knew the woman and that 
she lived In the chalet, and he hurried to her side, 
expecting her to look up at the sound of his footsteps, 
but she gave no sign of hearing. The rest of the 
party joined him, but still she did not stir. Then 
Pierre stepped close to her and laid his hand on her 
shoulder, but she shook It off with a shrug that was 
half a shudder without looking up. Then he said 
softly, 


128 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


“I am Pierre Arnaud. You remember me? Can 
I do anything for you?” 

She shook her head without lifting it. 

“Can’t you even tell me what is the trouble?” urged 
Pierre. 

She released one arm, extended it in the direction of 
the chalet, and then instantly brought it back to con- 
ceal her face. 

“Oh, I know what must have happened,” he cried 
in a very agony of sympathy. “Come, Peter, come 
quickly,” and he bounded toward the house. At the 
door he paused just a second to say to Peter, “Her 
little girl has been ill a long, long time. Perhaps 
she is dead,” and then he stepped inside. 

The woman had looked up for a minute at Pierre 
and the man to whom he had spoken, and then buried 
her face in her arms again, paying no heed to Helen 
and her father. It mattered not to her who came 
and went. If they would only leave her alone with 
her heart-breaking sorrow. That was all that any- 
one could do for her. In the next second Pierre was 
back again calling, “Peter wants you. Dr. Jones, please 
hurry.” Then he sped down the trail in the direc- 
tion of the village and Helen, left alone with the 
woman, wished that Pierre had stopped long enough 
to tell her what the trouble was. 

“You will not mind my sitting close beside you?” 
she said softly, “I am so sorry.” Then, after a mo- 
ment’s silence, she laid her hand on the woman’s bared 
arm and stroking it gently was not repelled. 


COLETTE 


129 

“All the others have gone away,” she whispered. 
“Couldn’t you just tell me what has happened?” 

The woman raised her head and stared at Helen. 
Then in a minute she said with great effort, 

“She was just a little girl too.” 

“Was she your little girl?” If ever human sym- 
pathy found expression in look and tone, it found ex- 
pression In Helen’s. 

“Yes, all I had,” the woman sobbed In answer. 

“Is she ” Helen could not frame the dread four- 

lettered word. But the woman understood. 

“I do not know,” she replied. “They said there was 
no hope. I could not stay.” 

“I am going to leave you a minute,” said Helen. 
“I will be right back,” and then she was gone. Won- 
dering at the eagerness In her voice, the woman 
watched her fairly fly to the house, then bowed her 
head again upon her arm. It never occurred to her 
to follow. It mattered not who went or came. 

Pushing open the door, Helen found herself In a 
little room full of people, four or five women and two 
or three men. 

“Where Is the little girl?” she asked. 

“You cannot go in,” said one of the women, nod- 
ding In the direction of a room beyond. 

“Is she dead?” 

“We think so.” 

“Aren’t you sure? Oh I tell my father to come out 
if you are not sure.” 

“Which one is your father?” 


130 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“Oh! I don’t know. Just have one of them come 
out,” and there was that in Helen’s voice which 
brooked neither delay nor denial. 

The woman stepped within the room and Peter was 
the one who came. Not needing to be told what 
Helen wanted, he bent down and whispered, 

“Tell her she is still alive, and that other children 
have been as ill as she and have recovered. Pierre 
has gone for my case.” 

She barely heard the last words and was out of 
the room in a flash. The people in the room crowded 
to the door, wondering where she was going, and 
one of the men started to follow her, but she waved 
him back with an imperative gesture. The next in- 
stant she was back beside the woman, who leaned 
toward her in recognition of her coming. 

“I know,” Helen said softly. 

“Know what?” slowly lifting her head. 

“Know that she is not dead, and that perhaps ” 

“Perhaps ” The woman sat up transfixed with 

the wonder of the word. 

“Peter says they have been as ill and yet have lived.” 

The woman pressed the back of a clinched hand 
against her mouth as though what she heard was per- 
fectly incredible. 

“Peter is a great doctor, one of the greatest where 
I live in America.” 

“And he?” pointing to the house. 

“Yes,” Helen nodded solemnly, “he is up there with 
— ^what is her name?” 


COLETTE 131 

^‘Colette/’ as though she were naming the saint her- 
self. “And he is with her?’’ 

“Yes, and he has sent Pierre down to the hotel 
for his case. He has It with him, and perhaps — per- 
haps — there is something in it that will make Colette 
well.” 

The woman looked at Helen a moment and then 
threw herself face downward on the ground in a 
paroxysm of weeping. Helen moved close to her and 
began silently smoothing her hair. 

After a while she heard the sound of footsteps and 
she whispered, 

“Someone is coming. And now I see him. I knew 
It must be Pierre, and there' is a man with him carry- 
ing the case. I suppose it grew too heavy for Pierre. 
He looks very red in the face and must have run all 
the way. My father is a doctor and you know he is 
in there, too, with — Colette. (I think it’s a beautiful 
name.) And he will help Dr. Alwyn all he can. After 
a while, when you grow a little quiet, don’t you think 
you could go up to the house? Because you are her 
mother, and I should think It would help if they could 
ask you some questions.” 

Indeed, she was her mother, and the woman was 
instantly on her feet. Oh! if there were really some- 
thing still that she could do, but as she fled she paused 
and looked at Helen as though she were an angel sent 
from heaven. Helen felt herself as though she were. 
It was such a heavenly thing to be able to bring a 
great hope to such a broken heart. 


132 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

It was infantile paralysis they had to deal with up 
in the little chalet, and Peter had with him in his 
wonderful case the serum with which to fight it. But 
the case was more in Dr. Jones’ line, and Peter in- 
sisted upon his taking the lead. 

It was wonderful the way in which the exhausted, 
despairing woman of an hour before rose to all that 
was required of her, and for a while the two doctors 
kept her very busy. Gently but very firmly they had 
cleared the little house of the group of over-zealous 
neighbors, with the exception of one faithful woman 
friend who had helped to nurse Colette from the hour 
in which she had been stricken. Then the moment 
that perfect quiet was achieved, the mother sat literally 
at the feet of the two doctors on a low stool near 
the bed and answered question after question with 
greatest carefulness. Uneducated peasant though she 
was, common sense and mother sense were strong 
within her, and she knew how much might depend 
upon the minutest exactness of her replies. At last, 
when they felt they had the history of the case pretty 
well in hand from her own lips, they asked her to 
send for the doctor from the valley who had been in 
charge. The reason for that she could not readily 
understand, seeing that he had gone hopelessly away 
the day before; but she questioned nothing, and her 
faithful friend set out instantly to bring him. You can 
imagine the country doctor’s amazement when he found 
himself face to face with the two foreign physicians 
and learned that they held high hope of bringing 


COLETTE 


133 

Colette out from the illness that held her apparently 
in so death-like a clasp. 

“We are both going to spend the night here, Dr. 
Jones and I,” Peter explained to Colette’s mother 
when the consultation with the valley physician was 
over. “We will take turns at watching and sleeping 
and you must get the best night’s rest you’ve had in 
weeks. You feel that you can trust us, don’t you?’’ 

“As I would trust the Holy Father Himself, ]\Jes- 
sieurs.” 

“And now I am going down to the village to tele- 
graph to Aix for an English nurse to take care of 
Colette.” 

“Oh, no,” said the woman, “we can surely do all 
that there is to do, I and my friend. There is very 
little money since my husband died, not nearly enough 
for one doctor, let alone three,” with a wan little 
smile. 

“There will be no need for any money at all,” and 
as Peter spoke the woman became conscious of that 
wonderful something that made so many friends for 
him everywhere and of which he himself was so ut- 
terly unconscious. 

“I must send for the woman,” Peter went on to 
explain, “because you and your friend don’t know 
how to care for a case like this of Colette’s. To 
know how needs almost as much training as to learn to 
be a doctor. And while she cares for Colette, you 
will care for the housekeeping, about which you know 
a great deal more than she does, I warrant. And 


134 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

she will come for love of her work, and Dr. Jones and 
I will direct her for love of ours, and we’ll all do 
all in our power for love of Colette, till first thing 
you know we will all have loved her back to you and 
health once more. There are some things in this 
world that money has nothing to do with.” 

The tired woman looked as though she thought it 
all past belief, as well she might. Then she dropped 
on to her knees at a rude prie-dieu beside the bed 
and closed her eyes in prayer. That it was a prayer 
of gratitude her fervent, upturned face betrayed. 
Peter looked at her with an admiring tenderness. “We 
would do well,” he thought, “to have a prie-dieu in 
all our homes ; we seem to make a place for everything 
save a place to speak to God.” 

And was it strange that the woman prayed? 
Colette’s living form lay there still, apparently as life- 
less as ever on the cot, but the Great Physician had 
come almost as truly as in the olden time, and some 
of us believe the Great Physician Himself had sent 
him. 

Leaving the woman on her knees, and with a word 
to Dr. Jones, who was seated beside the bed study- 
ing the little patient’s blanched face with discerning 
scrutiny, Peter stole out to find Pierre and Helen sit- 
ting waiting a little distance away. They were rather 
a forlorn-looking pair, however, for it was well on to 
four o’clock and they had had nothing to eat since 
breakfast. 


COLETTE 


135 

“Why, you poor youngsters!” Peter exclaimed. “I 
thought you had gone some time ago.” 

“Nobody told us we might, so we didn’t quite like 
to,” Helen said wearily. 

“Well, I’ll tell you what we’ll do to make up for 
it all. We’ll have dinner together, we three, at the 
hotel — the very best they can give us, and we won’t 
lose any time in getting there.” And if you could 
have seen the strides with which they made their way 
hand in hand down the remainder of the hill, you 
would have taken the wilted little specimens of a few 
minutes before for veritable athletes. And they asked 
questions every whit as fast as they walked. 

“Is Colette going to get well?” 

‘Tes, unless ” 

“Unless what?” asked the children in a breath. 

“My gracious, can’t you give a fellow time to think? 
I was just going to say unless we run against some- 
thing unforeseen.” 

“Did you tell her mother she was surely going to 
get well?” 

“We told her we were pretty sure she would.” 

“What did she say when you told her?” 

“Never a word to us, but I’ll tell you what she 
did. She knelt right down at the prie-dieu beside 
Colette’s bed and said a few words to God. Some 
things are so great you have to thank God for them 
first.” 

“Did she thank you afterward?” questioned prac- 
tical Helen. 


136 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“Not a word, there was no need to.” 

“Is father going to stay there?” 

“Yes, for to-night. So am I. Then we are going 
to take turns for the rest of the week.” 

“But that ” Pierre paused, ashamed to put his 

thought into words. 

“Yes, naturally,” for Peter understood. “But Mont 
Blanc can wait.” 

As soon as they came into the town they parted 
company, Pierre and Helen to rush home and breath- 
lessly beg to be allowed to go to the hotel for din- 
ner, and then to narrate in somewhat calmer fashion, 
while they made superficial toilettes, some of the ad- 
ventures of the twenty-four hours since they started 
for the Mer de Glace. Madame Sainton’s eyes opened 
wide with wonder when Pierre, just before running 
out the door, confided the jewel he had found into 
her hands for safe-keeping. 

“I think we shall easily find the owner, grand’- 
mere,” he shouted back and grand’mere wondered as 
she slipped it down into her stocking — the safest place 
she knew of — how it must feel really to own any- 
thing so beautiful and so precious. 

Meeting at the corner of the Rue Nationale, Helen 
and Pierre sped along breathlessly side by side. When 
they came to an open space in front of the hotel they 
saw Peter on his balcony. 

“Why don’t you hurry?” he called. When they 
reached his room they found him standing beside the 
table. “What do you suppose it says?” he asked, 


COLETTE 


137 

looking down on one of the folded sheets of the Post 
Telegraphique. 

“What?” they both exclaimed. 

“How should I know?” 

Pierre, lifting it, saw that it was unopened. 

“Is it from Hilaire?” 

“Probably.” 

“What if it says she cannot come?” 

“That’s what made me afraid to open it, but now 
that you are here to nerve me for the worst, we’ll 
break the seal and have done with the suspense.” And 
they broke it to read, “Accept your invitation. I am 
just creezy about it — Hilaire.” 

“What does she mean, ‘just creezy?’ ” questioned 
Pierre, his face aglow with delight at the thought of 
her coming. 

“Oh, she means she’s tickled to pieces,” Helen ex- 
plained. “When we girls in the States feel like that 
we always say we’re just crazy about it.” 

“Yes, you always do,” said Peter with a sigh. “I 
wish you girls in the States could enlarge your vo- 
cabulary.” 

“But ‘just creezy’ isn’t right, is it?” Pierre cried 
exultingly. He did not want Hilaire to get on so 
fast with her English as to outstrip him. 

“It’s near enough,” said Peter. “I think it’s rather 
nice for a change.” 

“She must be very nice herself,” said Helen, who 
had yet to know Hilaire. “I’m ‘just creezy’ about 
her,” with a mischievous little upglance at Peter. 


CHAPTER NINTH 


PETER WAITS ON A CUSTOMER 


Call it misfortune, crime or what 
You will — his presence was a blot 
Where all was bright and fair — 

A blot that told its darksome tale 
And left its mark, a blighting trail 
Behind him everywhere. 

— Oliver Herford. 

E arly the next morning Peter was at the sta- 
tion to meet the nurse he had sent for from 
Aix, and then to hasten on with her to the chalet. 
There were already signs to the doctor’s practiced 
eye of a change for the better in Colette. The con- 
tents of the precious little vial from Peter’s case were 
beginning to take effect, and Peter relieved Dr. Jones 
with a triumphant smile that did not escape Colette’s 
mother. To the nurse, seated on the other side of the 
still rigid little form, he carefully explained every 
detail of the case, while Colette’s mother looked on 
with keenest interest, though unable to understand a 
single English word. It was touching to see her per- 
fect confidence in the new doctors and her anxiety 
to anticipate every possible need. On her face, worn 
138 


PETER WAITS ON A CUSTOMER 139 

with anxiety and despair, rested the most patient smile. 
It was as though she said, “I shall have my little Co- 
lette back again in God’s good time. She will climb 
into my arms, she will run about with the other chil- 
dren. I can afford to wait.” That it would be a long 
wait both the doctors knew, but that it would not 
be long before she would look into her mother’s eyes 
with recognition they felt confident. 

Peter spent two or three hours with Colette and 
then, leaving her in the charge of the nurse until he 
should return for the night, started for the valley. A 
short distance from the house he stumbled across 
Pierre seated against a stone with his find of the day 
before sparkling in his hand. 

“It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” he said, holding it up to 
Peter’s gaze and then tucking it back into a little 
chamois bag in which, he used to carry marbles. 

“Yes, a wonder. But what are you doing here?” 

“Waiting for you.” 

“How long have you waited?” 

“An hour, I guess. I came as soon as I had got 
through all I had to do at home.” 

“But you had no idea when I was coming.” 

“No, of course not. I just wanted to be here in 
case you came.” 

“Why?” 

“Now, Peter, you know why.” There were some 
things that went without saying. “Besides, I thought 
if you came home to dinner with me we might have a 
walk afterward. Don’t you remember Granny said 


140 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

she wished you would come in any time and she keeps 
making nice things to eat, just hoping you will come.” 

Pierre’s invitation was cordially accepted, for Peter 
could not see too much of the dear old Saintons, and 
they set off together down the trail. Pierre was think- 
ing hard. He knew Peter knew perfectly well why 
he had come up to wait for him. He seemed to like 
to have him tell him how much he cared. Peter was 
certainly a very affectionate fellow. 

“Have you ever thought you would like to be mar- 
ried, Peter?” asked Pierre. 

“It has sometimes occurred to me, Pierre.” 

“But you are happy just as you are, aren’t you, 
Peter?” 

“Yes, much of the time. Most of it, perhaps.” 

“What makes you happy?” 

“Oh, everything; but chiefly remembering and 
knowing.” 

“Remembering and knowing what?” with a puzzled 
frown. 

“The joyous things that have been and that are.” 

“But once in a while you are sad?” 

Peter assented with a nod. 

“Why?” 

“The same reasons, remembering and knowing.” 

“I don’t quite understand.” 

“Remembering some sad things that have been, 
and knowing some joyous things that can never be. 
But when I get thinking along that line it’s because 
I am so tired that my thoughts ‘gang their ain gait’ 


PETER WAITS ON A CUSTOMER 141 

in spite of me. Besides, the sadness can’t compare 
with the gladness of knowing the joyous things that 
are.” 

“Such as what?” 

Peter shook his head. If, as Pierre had just in- 
timated, there were some things so evident they went 
without saying, there were others that could go with- 
out saying for other reasons. Pierre was silent for 
a minute. If Peter thought it best not to take him 
any more fully into his confidence, that was all right. 
Presently he asked, 

“Is just knowing enough to make you happy?” 

“Yes.” 

“I don’t believe it would be enough for me,” Pierre 
announced, with a determined shake of the head. 

“Do you know, Peter,” for there was a vagueness 
in this conversation not quite to Pierre’s mind, “that 
sometimes you ‘talk over my head,’ as you say in Eng- 
lish?” 

“Yes, I know.” 

“Do you mean to?” 

“I mean to because I have to,” and there was a 
firm line about Peter’s mouth that made Pierre decide 
to change the subject. 

“I shouldn’t wonder if I found the owner of this 
this afternoon,” he said after a little, clapping his 
hand on his pocket. “There was a notice about its 
being lost, printed in French and English, and nailed 
up in the Office of the Guide-Chef almost all last sum- 
mer. One of the guides I saw this morning says there 


142 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

is a stout lady at the Hotel du Mond who was here 
last year and he thinks she is the one who lost it. He 
doesn’t remember her name.” 

“Let me have a look at it. Why, it is another thing 
altogether,” and Peter stood stock-still gazing at it as 
it lay in the palm of his hand. 

“Yes, Grand’mere Sainton cleaned and polished it 
with some sort of stuff she has.” 

“Well, if the woman at the Hotel du Mond is the 
owner, she is mighty lucky to get it back,” and then 
the pendant was returned to its little bag. 

They had reached the town by this time and were 
passing the statue. 

“You’ve sort of taken their place,” said Pierre. 
“It is nicer to have your friends alive.” 

“Yes, by a long shot.” 

“I think I really needed a friend like you very much, 
Peter. Lots of people are nice, but a friend is dif- 
ferent.” 

They had stopped a moment to look up at the 
statue, and they looked down to find Helen, who had 
stolen on tiptoe across the street, right in front of 
them. Her hands were buried in her coat-pockets, 
for a cool wind was blowing, and she looked very 
trig and comfortable. 

“It’s great that Colette is better,” was her first re- 
mark. “I think I’ll walk with you the rest of the 
way,” was the second. 

“The rest of the way is to the Saintons’ to luncheon,” 
Peter explained, 


PETER WAITS ON A CUSTOMER 143 

“Come right along,” Pierre urged cordially. 
Grand’mere will love to have you too.” 

“Oh, thank you very much, I am already invited. 
I went into the store for a book for mother this morn- 
ing and your grand’mere made me promise to come 
back.” 

“Then we surely will have something awfully good 
to eat. Grand’mere sets a lot of store by you, Helen.” 

“Not so much as I do by her and your grand-pere 
too. I had a grandmother who was the limit. You 
couldn’t please her, so we were glad — yes, glad, be- 
cause I’m going to be perfectly honest — when she 
died. It is the beautifulest thing in the world to be 
nice when you’re old, like the Saintons. Do you know 
what makes them so nice, Pierre?” It was rather a 
difficult question to answer. 

By common consent, they moved on just then and, 
glancing up at Balmat and the doctor, Pierre touched 
his hat, and then colored up to its rim at Helen’s 
amusement. 

“I’m not going back on my old friends even if 
I have some new ones,” he explained, and Peter laid 
a hand on his shoulder in a way that sent a fine little 
thrill down his spine. 

“What is it do you think, Peter, that makes grand- 
pere and grand’mere so nice?” asked Pierre. He was 
somewhat at a loss to answer Helen’s question. 

“One reason, I think, is because they will not let 
themselves be saddened by the thought that they are 
growing old. This world §eems to them both such 


144 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

a wonderful place that they are confident the world 
they are bound for must be more wonderful still. 
Dear old Dr. Muhlenberg over in my country wrote 
a hymn that my mother loved called ‘I would not live 
always.’ It was pretty mournful. I remember two 
lines of it. 

“ ‘The few lurid mornings that dawn on us here, 

Are enough for life’s woes, full enough for its cheer.’ 

Years afterward he published an apology for it and 
wrote another which would better have suited the dear 
old Saintons.” 

By this time they had reached the little store, which 
happened for the moment to be crowded, and Grand- 
pere Sainton had his hands full, because as Helen was 
coming to dinner Grand’mere Sainton was concocting a 
marvelous pudding, far more important from her point 
of view than the demands of any customers. Indeed, 
the Saintons were not good business folk at all. They 
would have been worlds better off if they had had 
more of an eye to business, but they would have been 
worlds poorer in many of the things that were mak- 
ing them grow old so gracefully. Pierre fell to at 
once, making himself useful, and the first moment he 
had a chance ran to the door of the living-room and 
called in to his grandmother, 

“Peter is here, he’s going to stay to dinner. And 
Granny, what do you think? he is waiting on people 
and tying up books in great style.” 


PETER WAITS ON A CUSTOMER 145 

“Bless his heart. Let’s have a look at him,” and 
she peered in through the crack in the door. 

Peter had come into the store with a familiar nod 
to Grand-pere Sainton, hung his hat on a peg, and 
approached a customer who was waiting on one side. 

“Well, sir, what can I do for you?” he asked. 

“I have already made several purchases,” the man 
explained, pointing to some books and stationery lying 
on the counter. “I am now in search of a rather rare 
book. I will wait for the old codger yonder.” 

Peter resented the man’s way of speaking, but man- 
aged to reply courteously, 

“There is no need to wait, I am as familiar with 
the stock as Monsieur Sainton himself.” Pierre, who 
was tying up one of the large photographs of Balmat 
and de Saussure for a lady customer, had to bite his 
lips to keep from laughing outright, and Grand-pere 
Sainton pretended to be looking for something on the 
floor. 

“Tell me the name of the book, please,” and Peter 
pushed a sliding ladder into place and began to mount 
it. “All of our old guidebooks that are out of print 
are on these two upper shelves.” And at this Mon- 
sieur Sainton stepped out of the door and looked down 
the street by way of pretext. It was the gospel truth, 
but how had Peter ever found it out? The fact was 
that Peter had a way of finding out everything where 
books were concerned. 

“It’s a book written in Latin describing the Alpine 


146 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

travels of a German named Scheuchzer,” the man ex- 
plained. “I thought there was just a chance I might 
find it in a behind-the-times place like this.’’ 

“You’ll hardly find that book in any bookstore,” 
and Peter descended, clapping the dust from his hands, 
and not volunteering the information that he had a 
copy of the Itinera Alpina that moment in his pocket. 
“But behind the times or not, we know enough in this 
store to have made you pay a good round sum for 
it if we had had it. Anything more I can do for you?” 

“No, nothing, thanks,” the man answered, where- 
upon Peter proceeded to do up the photographs and 
stationery in great style, as Pierre had said, for he 
could bring his surgeon’s deftness to bear upon paper 
and string as well as upon bones and sinews. It was 
at this point that Grand’mere Sainton was privileged 
to look in upon the scene. When the transaction was 
finished, the man said, 

“I am not quite the fool, sir, you take me for. If 
I am not very much mistaken, you are Dr. Almet 
Jones.” 

“My dear sir,” Peter replied, “I have not tried to 
take you for a fool,” as though no effort was needed. 
(At this point Helen, who had also come into the store 
and had been making herself useful, was seized with 
a fit of coughing.) “But you are very much mistaken 
in taking me for Dr. Almet Jones.” 

The man stood for a moment non-plused and looked 
as though he suspected Peter of not telling the truth. 


PETER WAITS ON A CUSTOMER 147 

“Well, I’m not mistaken in one thing. You’ve been 
enjoying yourself at my expense.” 

“Yes, a little, perhaps,” and Peter gave the man 
a wink which almost disarmed him. “But, begging 
your pardon, sir, you have a way about you that rather 
invites it.” The man grabbed his bundle and left 
the store. A block or two away he ran against Helen’s 
father and seized him by the shoulder. 

“You came over on the steamer with me, didn’t 
you?” 

“Yes, I believe I did,” said the doctor, naturally 
indignant at being so accosted. 

“And you are Dr. Almet Jones?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Then who in creation is the other fool doctor who 
is staying here in Chamonix?” 

“How should I know to whom you refer, sir?” and 
Dr. Jones took himself off with considerable dignity, 
for the man was simply insufferable. It’s a pity people 
ever have to be like that. They miss so much they 
might otherwise enjoy. But for his insufferableness, 
Peter very likely would have offered to lend the 
stranger the precious copy of Itinera Alpina reposing 
in his pocket. 

With the shutters up, as usual at the noon hour, 
they had a merry dinner in the little back dining-room, 
largely at the expense of The Insufferable. When 
Dr. Jones, paying no attention to the closed shutters, 
made his way in in order to tell the little company word 
for word of the encounter he had just had outside, the 


148 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

bill for fun at his expense certainly must have run 
very high. 

“The other fool doctor is a fine name for you, 
Peter,” laughed Helen, when things had quieted down 
a little. 


CHAPTER TENTH 


PIERRE MAKES A FORMIDABLE CALL 

'‘But, kitten!” I cried, dismayed, 

"If you live through the angry gales 
You know you will be afraid 
To look at the Prince of Wales!” 

Said the kitten, "No such thing! 

Why should he make me wince? 

If ‘a Cat may look at a King,’ 

A kitten may look at a Prince!” 


— Oliver Herford. 


HERE was nothing Grand-pere Sainton enjoyed 



1 more than a quiet talk with Peter, nothing in 
fact that most people who knew Peter enjoyed more. 
I make no apology for all the fine things I tell you 
about Peter. He could occasionally be exceedingly 
disagreeable, and for that he was to blame. He was 
himself exceedingly lovable, and for that I am not 
sure that he deserved any credit. Of one thing I 
am confident, that he often succeeded in being agree- 
able when he felt otherwise. For that, of course, he 
deserves as much credit as anybody. But Peter was 
fine at heart, and he had a big one, and if he saw 


149 


150 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

anything lovable in you he let you know it in some 
subtle, indefinable way. All this accounts for the fact 
that Grand-pere Sainton was having a beautiful time 
of it when dinner was over, as he and Peter sat com- 
fortably tipped back in two arm-chairs just outside 
the door of the shop. He never tired of hearing 
about America, whose history Peter knew by heart. 
This afternoon he was deep in the tragedy of the 
Civil War. Grand’mere Sainton and Helen let them 
talk on without interruption, while they themselves 
waited on customers or listened between whiles as best 
they could from their seats on two low rush-bottomed 
chairs just inside the door. Pierre, with Helen’s best 
wishes for his unsuccess, had taken himself off to 
see if the lady at the Hotel du Monde was the owner 
of the pendant. He kept his hand clasped over it as 
it lay in the little chamois bag in his pocket. He had 
grown exceedingly fond of it just for its beauty. Ex- 
pecting to find the owner, he had never taken the 
trouble to find out how much it was worth. The hotel 
Pierre sought was no great distance away. It stood 
on one of the side-roads that lead up the western 
slope from the valley, and when he reached what he 
knew to be the best point for a view he faced round 
so as to have a little pow-wow with Mont Blanc. At 
least that was what Peter called it whenever he found 
Pierre standing motionless with folded arms and eyes 
riveted on the great white mountain. He might have 
caught the trick from his up-gazing friends of the 
statue. It was not the sort of thing you expect in 


PIERRE MAKES A FORMIDABLE CALL 151 

a boy, but so much the better. Pierre was different 
from the ordinary run and a shade finer for the rea- 
son, perhaps, that pow-wows with big things, whether 
ideas or mountains, make for a sort of fineness in 
folks big or little. 

Careful not to stop too long by the way, Pierre 
soon walked into the office of the hotel. 

“Is there a lady here who was here last year?’’ 
he asked, standing hat in hand, with the other hand 
guarding his treasure. 

“Five of them,” answered the clerk gruffly. “Which 
one do you want to see?” 

“A very stout one,” Pierre answered seriously. “I 
don’t know her name.” 

“Two of them are very stout. What is she like?” 

“I don’t know, I never saw her.” 

“Is it something important?” 

“Yes, very.” 

“Well, suppose you try Madame Conrad, in No. 
32. She’s a trifle the stoutest, if that’s what you’re 
after, only mind you don’t tell her so.” Then he 
struck a diminutive gong which brought into evidence 
an equally diminutive hall-boy named Joseph. “Show 
this young gentleman to No. 32. If she is not satis- 
factory we’ll try the party in 21.” 

Joseph led the way up the two flights and Pierre 
followed, wishing very much that he were sure that 
she was the one wanted. He had a sort of subcon- 
scious intimation that encounters with strange ladies 
might prove unpleasant. 


152 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

Joseph knocked at No. 32. A voice called ^^entrez,” 
and Joseph, seeing the door open, announced, “A boy 
to see you, Madame.’’ Pierre stepped In and the 
door closed behind him very slowly, for Joseph had 
hopes of possibly getting an inkling of what was go- 
ing on. But Pierre waited. 

“Well, what do you want of me, my little man?” 
the lady began and then paused. Pierre knew why, 
for he had instantly recognized her. 

“Why, I believe you are the very little fellow who 
made such a time In the salle a manger.” 

“Yes, I am,” said Pierre, feeling very uncomfort- 
able, “and I am very glad you are the nice one who 
stood up when I asked you to.” 

“You taught me quite a lesson,” and the lady col- 
ored up to the roots of her hair. Pierre straightway 
did likewise. 

“But what are you doing In Chamonix?” she asked. 

“I was only visiting at Aix. I live in Chamonix. I 
am very much surprised to find you are someone I 
know.” 

“And you came here to see someone you did not 
know?” 

“Yes, I had to. It was the only way of finding out 
If she was the person I wanted.” 

“Didn’t you know the person’s name?” 

Pierre shook his head. 

“Did you know what she was like?” 

“Only that she was stout,” Pierre answered hon- 
estly. 



“‘but what are you doing in CHAMONIX?’” — Page 152 



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PIERRE MAKES A FORMIDABLE CALL 153 

“Well, do you think I’ll do in the matter of stout- 
ness?” 

Pierre again blushed violently as he explained, 

“It was all I had to help me. I am looking for 
a lady who was here last summer, and one of the 
guides told me there was a lady at this hotel who he 
thought was the one I wanted, rather a large person.” 

The lady smiled at Pierre’s careful choice of words. 

“Well, he was quite right. I was here all last sum- 
mer and, as you have had a chance to observe before, 
I am a very stout person.” 

If Pierre was red before, now he grew crimson, 
but he managed to stammer out, 

“I came to ask you if when you were here last sum- 
mer you happened to lose something.” 

“Yes, I did,” she said quickly, very much excited 
at the question. “I lost a simply priceless pendant 
up near the Montenvers hotel.” 

Pierre drew the little bag from his pocket and shook 
the pendant into Madame Conrad’s ample lap. 

It was some seconds before she could speak. 

“Oh I it is wonderful — wonderful that it should 
have come back to me,” and she fairly fondled the 
long-lost treasure. “Sit down, my little friend, sit 
down and tell me all about it. You see the stones had 
been in my family for years. It wasn’t just its value 
I cared for.” 

Pierre sat down, simply beaming with satisfaction, 
and then said in English, 


1 54 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“Peter would say it was perfectly bully to have the 
chance to make anyone so glad.’’ 

Madame Conrad looked up partly in surprise at the 
English word and partly because of Pierre’s apparent 
disinterestedness. But, of course, she concluded, it 
must be only apparent. He had probably long ago 
made up his mind as to just what he would do with the 
reward. But as Pierre went on giving her a graphic 
description of the finding of her pendant, using English 
when he could, as he was very fond of doing, she be- 
gan to think he actually was disinterested, though it 
really seemed quite impossible under the circumstances. 
He had incidentally told enough about himself in his 
allusions to Granny Sainton and their home behind the 
shop for her to know that there could not be much 
money at his disposal, and yet he ran on as though 
money was the last thing he thought of. It was not 
even the last thing just then, for he was not thinking 
of it at all. 

“Tell me,” said Madame Conrad, when Pierre, hav- 
ing been interrupted by many questions, had come at 
last to the end of his narration, “tell me, how did you 
feel when you found it? Of course you knew it was 
very valuable.” 

“Oh, yes, of course. I think I felt quite rich at 
first, and that findings were havings. You see, my 
father was a crystal searcher here in these mountains, 
and I thought, ‘Now I know how father used to feel 
when he found a wonderful crystal.’ But I didn’t feel 
that way very long, because that very night when we 


PIERRE MAKES A FORMIDABLE CALL 155 

were sitting talking round a fire out in the open behind 
the Hotel du Montenvers, I remembered the notice 
that was nailed up in the office of the Guide-Chef for 
so many weeks last summer.” 

“And then what did you do?” 

“Oh, then it was easy to find out something about 
you. It was the guide La Roche who thought you 
were staying here at the Hotel du Monde, but he 
couldn’t remember your name.” 

Madame Conrad sat absorbed in thought a moment, 
then seated herself at her desk. 

“Come and look out,” she said, drawing back the 
curtain, for she had noticed Pierre’s eyes wandering 
to the view of Mont Blanc from her window. Then, 
she added, pointing to a basket of fruit standing on a 
little table, “help yourself to one of those peaches 
which have just been sent down from Paris.” 

Nothing loth, Pierre availed himself of both invi- 
tations, while Madame Conrad spread a flat book out 
on her desk and began to write in it. 

“Come here,” she said in a few minutes, calling 
Pierre to look over her shoulder. “Is that what they 
told you I would give you?” 

Pierre looked at the writing and the figures in a 
mystified way. 

“Well, that’s what I said I would give, five thou- 
sand francs.” 

“That you would give all that for the finding? Is 
that what you mean?” 

“Yes, that is what I mean. I am going to write 


156 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

your name in here when you tell me what it is, and 
then I am going to give it to you and you can take it 
to the bank here in Chamonix and they will give you 
the money.” 

“Will that be what we call a recompense?^* 

“Yes, it is the recompense, the reward, I offered 
last year.” 

“But it is really a gratuite; I have not earned it.” 

“Oh, yes, you have earned it by happening to find 
the pendant.” 

“I don’t want it. I shouldn’t like the feeling of it. 
I don’t want money for happening to look down and 
see something. Peter wouldn’t want it either.” 

“And pray who is Peter?” and voice, look, every- 
thing were the embodiment of astonishment. 

“Peter is my great friend. My best friend.” 

“Is he older than you?” 

“He’s a regular grown-up. He’s almost old. He 
is Dr. Peter Alwyn, of New York.” 

“You don’t mean it! That was the man who be- 
friended you in the salle a manger?” 

“Yes,” said Pierre proudly, “we did not know each 
other till then.” 

“Well, now, I wonder,” smiling so kindly that Pierre 
thought she looked really handsome, “I wonder if 
you and your doctor friend are what they call prigs 
in English.” 

“I don’t know,” Pierre answered thoughtfully. “I 
have never heard of a prig. I can tell you this, though, 


PIERRE MAKES A FORMIDABLE CALL 157 

Peter isn’t one unless it’s a nice thing to be and it 
doesn’t sound nice.” 

“It isn’t. It’s a person who thinks himself much 
superior to other people. It seems to me that a nat- 
ural sort of boy would be only too thankful to have 
earned five thousand francs.” 

“I would be very thankful to really earn them,” 
Pierre answered, as persistent in his point as Words- 
worth’s little cottage-maid with her reiterated “We are 
seven.” 

“I presume you talked it all over with Dr. Alwyn 
and that he has brought you round to this extremely 
unusual point of view.” 

“Not at all,” said Pierre, and Madame Conrad 
was deeply stirred by his earnestness. “We have never 
said one single word about it. The night of the day 
I found it a gentleman said that if I found the owner 
I would receive a large gratuite, but I did not like 
the idea at all, and I just shrugged my shoulders and 
looked at Peter and he looked back at me and shrugged 
his shoulders, and I knew he had no more use for a 
qratuite than I had and that’s all the talk we ever 
had.” 

“And then all I can do is to thank you!” 

“That’s all,” said Pierre with the finality of a judge, 
but with smiling eyes. “The best thank you I ever 
had for anything was when I shook the pendant into 
your lap just now, and you couldn’t say a word you 
were so glad.” 


158 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

Madame Conrad bit her lip and looked steadily at 
Pierre for a minute. 

“Well, you’re not a prig, whatever you are,” she 
said. And Pierre, very thankful that he wasn’t, un- 
consciously glanced toward the peaches. 

“Are you boy enough to want another?” she 
laughed. Pierre promptly showed that he was and 
then settled back in his chair as though intending to 
make quite a call. 

“Is your name Nicolette?” he asked between two 
juicy bites. “I saw Nicolette Conrad written on the 
page,” in answer to her look of surprise, “when you 
asked me to look over your shoulder.” 

“Yes, that’s my name. Do you like it?” 

“I love it. A little girl I know here in Chamonix 
is named Nicolette, too, but she is just called Colette.” 

“So am 1. At least, I used to be. There is no 
one to call me by my first name now.” 

“You are named for the Saint, too, I suppose?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“I would rather have been named for her than 
for Joan of Arc. The Cure here in Chamonix is 
another great friend of mine, and he thinks Nicolette 
was just as great. Besides, there are so many Joans.” 

“I like Colette better myself.” And, pleased with 
Pierre’s familiar friendliness, Madame Conrad leaned 
back against the cushions of her chair, evidently quite 
as ready for a talk as he. 

“We did something even better than finding your 
pendant on our Mer de Glace trip,” Pierre went on 


PIERRE MAKES A FORMIDABLE CALL 159 

In friendly fashion. “We spent the night up there 
and the next day on our way down the trail we passed 
the chalet where Colette lives, and not far away I 
saw her mother sitting on the ground, crying very 
hard. I spoke to her but she would not answer and 
just pointed to the house. Then I knew that Colette, 
who had been ill a long time, must be very much worse. 
When I told Peter he went right up to the house and 
Helen’s father, who is a doctor, went too, and they 
both knew at once what the trouble was. Dr. Jones 
stayed all that night and Peter the next night, and now 
they think she will surely get well. You know, Peter 
is a great doctor. I don’t believe she would have lived 
but for Peter and Dr. Jones.” 

Although told in such simple fashion, Pierre’s tale 
sent an unwonted thrill to- Madame Conrad’s heart, so 
unwonted a thrill that it fairly startled her, but it made 
her very glad. She sometimes imagined she had lost 
all power to feel. 

“I should like to be in your place,” she said, when 
Pierre paused in his narration, “because Peter, as you 
call him, would never have had a chance to save her 
life, would he, but for you.” 

“Perhaps not. I suppose he might not have no- 
ticed the woman. Granny Sainton says that, like my 
father, I have the eyes of a crystal searcher; that I 
almost seem to look every way at once.” 

“They are rather searching eyes,” said Mrs. Con- 
rad, smiling, “but they are also very kind eyes. And 


i6o LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


now, tell me, couldn’t I do something for little Colette? 
Aren’t there some things they need in the chalet?” 

“Oh, there are a great many things!” 

“Do you think you could take some money to my 
little namesake and her mother?” 

“As fast as my legs would carry me,” and Pierre’s 
kind eyes shone at the prospect. 

“It is different taking money for others, I suppose?” 

“If I were ill and needed it and you could spare 
it I would take it for myself, too. That is, I think 
I would.” 

“Oh, I seel” said Madame Conrad, looking as 
though she would like to give Pierre a good hug. 
Opening the chain bag that hung at her side, she took 
out four twenty-franc notes, and Pierre, fairly jump- 
ing for them in his eagerness, folded them away in 
his shabby little pocketbook and then rose to go. No 
mere calling was longer to be thought of with those 
twenty-franc notes fairly burning a hole in his pocket. 
But, having something on his mind, he paused a mo- 
ment, leaning on the arm of Madame Conrad’s chair. 

“Did you say there was no one to call you Colette 
now?” he asked gently. 

“No, no one,” with another unwonted thrill. “I do 
not care for the kind of people I have been thrown 
with. That is the reason I come in the summer to 
Chamonix all by myself.” 

“It must be lonely.” 

“Yes, it is. You seem to have a great many peo- 
ple to love. You have spoken of Helen, whoever 


PIERRE MAKES A FORMIDABLE CALL i6i 

she may be, and Helen’s father, and Peter and Colette, 
and Colette’s mother, and Granny somebody, and the 
Cure, and ” 

“And Hilaire — did I say anything about Hilaire?” 

“No, nothing about Hilaire.” 

“Well, she’s fine, and they’re all fine. Do you think 
you would like to know them? I could bring them 
all here very easily. Would you like to have me?” 

“All at once?” said Madame, with lifted eyebrows. 

“Why, yes ; you could just have a regular party, only 
Hilaire is not here yet. She is coming on Friday. 
And then there’s Grand-pere Sainton, we mustn’t leave 
him out.” 

“But do you think they would care to come to a 
party at a stranger’s?” 

“They will care when I tell them about you and 
about this,” placing his hand against the pocket that 
held the money for Colette. 

“Well, I can tell you I should love to have them, 
but I would not like to have them refuse. You talk 
to Peter about it and if he approves I will write in- 
vitations to them all if you will bring me their names.” 

“Write them now,” urged Pierre, pushing her gently 
in the direction of her desk, forgetting for the mo- 
ment his errand to Colette. 

“Oh, no, it would take too much time. You talk 
with Peter and see what he thinks and then come again 
to see me and, if he thinks best, we’ll make all the 
arrangements. And, before you go, don’t you think it 
would be a good idea to tell me your name?” 


i62 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


“I will write it so you won’t forget,” and taking 
up a pen he wrote with many twists of his firm little 
mouth, “Pierre Arnaud, 23 Rue Nationale” in a hand 
that stretched quite across the sheet of paper. 

“Pierre Arnaud,” said Madame Conrad slowly, “I 
shall not forget it. How about those peaches yonder, 
could Colette eat one?” 

“Not for many a day,” looking wistfully at them. 

“Is there anyone to whom you would like to take 
them?” 

“I would love to take them to Granny!” 

“And I should love to have you,” and the pretty 
beribboned basket was placed in Pierre’s hands. 

“It seems,” and Pierre looked mischievously up at 
Madame Conrad, “as though a gratuite was the only 
thing I would mind taking.” Then, with a friendly 
little kiss on her plump white hand, he was gone. What 
would he have thought, I wonder, if he had turned 
back and discovered Madame Conrad sitting just 
where he had left her, with eyes closed and tears 
standing on their long, dark lashes? I know what he 
would have done. He would have tiptoed across the 
room and put a yet more fervid kiss, French fashion, 
on that white hand. 

What with one thing and another, it was even a 
more excited Pierre that made his way out of the 
hotel than had entered it a half-hour before, dreading 
the encounter with the strange lady he had come to 
seek. 

“The old party in 32 seems to have been the right 


PIERRE MAKES A FORMIDABLE CALL 163 

one,” the clerk called out as Pierre, holding the in- 
viting basket at arm’s length by way of precaution, 
bore It proudly past the office. He was In too much 
of a hurry to do anything more than nod good-na- 
turedly. If he had taken the time to stop It would 
have been to explain that he did not like to hear his 
new friend spoken of as an “old party.” 

The Paris basket, heaped high with its luscious fruit 
and tied with a voluminous cherry-colored bow, at- 
tracted considerable attention from passers-by, and the 
thought that he was the bearer of anything so fine to 
Granny made Pierre carry himself like a king. In 
fact, the Important manner with which he strode along 
attracted quite as much attention as the basket itself. 
He found, when he reached the store, that Peter had 
gone for a stroll with Grand-pere Sainton, but happily 
Helen was still there and able to enjoy with him 
Granny’s simply Incredible delight that such a gift 
should be for her. It was a rather breathless and con- 
fused telling of the events of the afternoon with which 
Pierre favored them, because of his Impatience, as he 
explained, to be off with the splendid gift for Colette’s 
mother. Pierre graciously permitted Helen to accom- 
pany him and, stumbling across Peter as they dashed 
through the door, also invited him to “Come along.” 
Peter, wondering what It was about, accepted. Pierre, 
leading the way, took the cross-cut past the statue, 
setting a lively pace even for Peter’s long legs, and 
compelling Helen to Indulge In a little trot in her ef- 
fort to keep up. 


i 64 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

Pierre, of course, counted it great good fortune 
to have Peter’s company in the mile-long walk out to 
Colette’s, for who could possibly be so interested as 
he. It was a delight to dwell on every detail. 

“Well, it seems very remarkable that your new 
friend here in Chamonix should prove to be your 
old friend of the salle a manger down at Aix,” said 
Peter, when at last he had a chance to get a word in 
edgewise; “I remember her perfectly, of course.” 

“She’s very different from those other two. She’s 
not like them at all, I’m sure,” Pierre explained in 
eager championship of his new friend. 

“No, I’m sure she isn’t, and you say she is lonely.” 

“She told me that she was very lonely. That she 
had no relatives; and that she did not care for the 
people she was meant to go with.” 

“Meant to go with? That’s a funny way to put it,” 
for Helen seemed to delight, where Pierre was con- 
cerned, in a captious kind of literalness. “I should 
think she was old enough to be her own mistress and 
go with whom she chose.” 

“Oh, she didn’t say exactly that.” 

“Well, what did she say, then?” 

“I don’t remember. Peter, you understand,” as 
though if Peter understood it did not in the least mat- 
ter about Helen, which Peter himself was, of course, 
chivalrous enough to resent. 

“I presume, Helen,” and Peter turned his back 
squarely upon Pierre, “that Madame Conrad has been 
thrown ” 


PIERRE MAKES A FORMIDABLE CALL 165 

“Yes, that’s what she said — thrown — if you must 
have the very words,” Pierre interrupted. 

“I presume, Helen,” Peter began over again by way 
of rebuke to the interrupter, “that Madame Conrad 
has been so unfortunate as to be thrown with people 
whom she does not care for because she is made of 
better stuff.” 

“Yes, that’s just what she said,” chimed in Pierre, 
quite too elated on this happy errand of his to be 
downed by any implied rebuke even from Peter. 

“Told you she did not care for her friends because 
she was made of better stuff? Well, I must say I 
think that’s pretty conceited.” 

Peter began to think it time to side with Pierre. 

“Helen Jones,” Pierre began in an ominous tone, 
“I invited you to come with me because ” 

“Oh, no, you didn’t invite me. You said I could 
come if I wanted to.” 

“Well, you wanted to, didn’t you?” 

Helen shrugged her shoulders. 

“You did, you know you did, and when I gave you 
a chance to come it’s the same thing as an invitation, 
and I told you you could come because I thought you’d 
like to see me give the money to Marie.” 

“Not at all. I came just because I wanted to see 
how happy Marie would be to get it.” 

Pierre, with a long-suffering look, glanced up at 
Peter, who gave him a wink. It was surprising how 
much Peter could say with a wink. He seemed to have 
a numerous assortment of them ready to his eye, like 


i66 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


the signals of a man-o’-war, and Pierre had gradually 
come to a thorough understanding of the code. This 
particular wink meant, “Drop the subject. She’s too 
unreasonable for words,” and Pierre acting on his 
good advice took refuge in dignified silence, to such 
utter discomfiture of Helen that she could think of 
nothing further to say. Peter, smothering a laugh 
under cover of a cough, determined to do nothing to 
relieve the situation. So on they all trudged for 
fully five minutes without speaking, which to Helen was 
almost unbearable. There were so many things she 
wanted to know, so many questions she wanted to ask. 
Besides, she was quite sure she had been rude. She 
proceeded to cut a very large piece of humble pie for 
herself by observing, in a general way, 

“I suppose people can be rather aggravating with- 
out exactly meaning It. Half In fun and half in ear- 
nest.” 

“Two-thirds earnest In some cases,” remarked Peter. 
“I should say, however, provided I am considered to 
be a competent judge, that there has been more or 
less ungraciousness on both sides, but I can assure 
you it has been worth the price of admission. I am 
very glad I was Invited to be of this party.” 

That Peter was making fun of them was per- 
fectly plain, and this made them allies immediately. 
They had once agreed that he did It rather often. It 
was almost the only thing they had against him. If 
we cannot help seeing a funny side to some of their 
serious situations, we grown-ups do owe it to the chil- 


PIERRE MAKES A FORMIDABLE CALL 167 

dren to be as solemn as owls and, as a rule, as non- 
committal. But, after all, a good little spat is not 
such a terrible thing now and then between sensible 
people. They soon get over it and life would be far 
less interesting if we were all run in the same mold. 

By the time our little party, all being sensible I am 
happy to say, had arrived at the chalet, the late un- 
pleasantness was as though it had never been. Colette 
had not yet reached the hoped-for stage of recogni- 
tion of those about her, but Marie, looking forward 
to it with perfect confidence, as the doctors told her 
she surely might, was another woman altogether. So 
she cheerily welcomed her three visitors, first care- 
fully closing the door into Colette’s room, an acute 
sensitiveness to sounds being one of the sure signs of 
her improvement. 

“Why, this is very fine to have you all come to- 
gether,” she said, dusting with her apron the chair 
she offered Helen. “How does it happen? We did 
not expect you until to-night. Dr. Alwyn.” 

“I just came along because Pierre invited me. He 
is the manager of this expedition.” 

“Expe — dis — scion?” queried Marie, not seeing any 
reason for the use of so fine a word. 

“Yes, that’s what they call it, you know, when a 
body of people go somewhere together for a special 
purpose.” 

“And are you three a body of people?” laughed 
Marie. 

“Yes,” said Pierre seriously, “and we have come 


i68 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

for just as special a purpose as can be.” He drew the 
envelope containing the notes from his pocket with 
pardonable importance. “I have heard you say, 
Marie, how you would like this and that if only you 
could afford it — things that you need for your house 
and things that you need for Colette — and now, if 
you please, you are to have them. Here are four 
twenty-franc notes. All for you. That’s the special 
purpose.” 

Marie could not speak for surprise and wonder. 

“There’s a lady here in Chamonix,” Pierre ex- 
plained, “a rich lady, and when I told her about you, 
that your husband was not living and that you had a 
little daughter Colette — she is named Colette, too — 
who had been ill a long time, so that you had not been 
able to work for weeks and weeks, she asked me to 
beg you to accept the money for yourself and her 
little namesake.” 

“Did she really say her little namesake?” and Marie 
doubtfully shook her head as though it was all far 
too good to be true. 

Helen was having what she wanted, that is she saw 
as far as anyone could see how happy Marie was to 
receive so marvelous a gift. Real deeps of happiness 
or sorrow are deeper by far than anyone can discover. 

“I should like to go right away to thank her,” said 
Marie, after many questions had been asked and an- 
swered. 

“Yes, I would,” said Pierre. “Put your things right 
on and go back with us.” 


PIERRE MAKES A FORMIDABLE CALL 169 

It was the work of a minute to find if Colette would 
need anything in her absence, and then to don her 
long black peasant cloak. There was no occasion for 
head covering. She always wore her peasant cap, 
being one of the few who had never adopted the fool- 
ish bonnet. 

“Now the party’s the next thing,” said Pierre, as 
soon as they were fairly off on the walk back to Chamo- 
nix, and of course his hearers looked very much mys- 
tified. It is gratifying to have people show all the 
surprise you expect when you have something of im- 
portance to communicate. 

“Yes, Madame Conrad wants us all to come to a 
party — that is, if you think well of it, Peter. She 
told me to ask you first.” 

“Why me, I wonder.” 

“Oh, because she remembered you down at Aix and 
I suppose she knew you would be a good one to ask. 
I think she wanted to be sure it wasn’t a silly idea.” 

“It was your idea perhaps, Pierre, that Madame 
Conrad should have a party?” Helen was simply re- 
solved not to let anything pass that morning. 

“Yes, it was my idea, and if you don’t stop this sort 
of thing you won’t be invited. Honest, you won’t.” 

Helen pretended to have turned her attention to 
catching a butterfly. 

“This was the way of it, Peter,” Pierre went on to 
explain. “You see, I made quite a long call, and just 
as I was going Madame Conrad said, ‘You seem to 
have a great many people to love, don’t you?’ and 


lyo LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

then she counted you all off on her fingers. She said 
I had spoken of Helen and Helen’s father, and you 
and Colette, and you, Marie, and Granny Sainton and 
the Cure. And then I told her there was - Hilaire 
besides, who was coming on Thursday, and Grand- 
pere Sainton. And then I asked if she would like 
to know you because, you see, I would like to have 
her get over being so lonely. And she seemed very 
much pleased. Then I said I would bring you all 
to see her, which, of course, would be a regular party, 
and she liked that idea, too, only she asked me to talk 
with you, Peter, and if you thought it was all right 
for me to come back and we would make the arrange- 
ments. If she gives a party she’ll give a nice one.” 

“Well, I do approve, Pierre, unless you think she 
will mind meeting so many new people at one time.” 

“I shall go and see her by myself,” said Helen. 
“It would be nicer for her to know some of us be- 
forehand.” She rather guessed there would then be 
no danger of being left out of the party. 

“And as I am going to see her now,” and Marie 
was all smiles, “she’ll know me beforehand too.” Then 
a shadow came over her face. “Being just a work- 
ing woman, perhaps I’ll not be wanted at a party,” 
she added. 

“No more, perhaps, will I, being just a working 
man,” and Peter gave Marie a wink that sent the 
shadow flying. She didn’t believe they would leave 
her out of a party gotten up by Pierre for the sake 
of introducing his friends. Besides, Pierre himself 


PIERRE MAKES A FORMIDABLE CALL 171 

had told her she was one of those Madame Conrad 
had spoken of. 

“You come and call on her with me now, Miss 
Helen,” suggested Marie, when they came to a part- 
ing of the ways. “It will be easier for me than to 
go alone.” And Helen, nothing loth, went on with her, 
first glancing down and wishing she had on a fresher 
looking frock. 

“Shall I tell Madame Conrad we will come to the 
party?” she called back to Pierre. 

“As you like,” he answered. 

“If I were you I would let Pierre tell her himself. 
It was his idea, as you happen to know.” Peter had 
spoken and Pierre knew he was perfectly safe. What 
he would do were he in their place had always the 
force of an ultimatum with both Pierre and Helen. If 
you will take the trouble to look up “ultimatum” in 
the dictionary you will find that it is one of the most 
forceful things imaginable. 


CHAPTER ELEVENTH 


MADAME CONRAD HAS A PARTY 


*Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark 
Our coming and look brighter when we come. 

— Byron. 

I T was seldom that Pierre of his own accord left 
Peter’s side, unless there was something binding 
to call him in another direction. Nothing was at all 
comparable to being with Peter. There really was 
something dog-like in his devotion, and there is no 
devotion more unselfish or less exacting than a dog’s. 
Just to be near is all a dog asks. Content to lie pa- 
tiently thinking his own thoughts for hours together, 
if he is only where he can gaze his fill at his master’s 
face and be quickly signaled as to the next move. While 
Peter wrote, and he had much writing to do of one 
sort and another, Pierre would curl himself up in a 
big upholstered chair with some absorbing book, but 
would turn his eyes now and then from its pages to 
have a good look at Peter. Becoming conscious of 
the look, Peter would suddenly glance up and give 
Pierre a wink, as much as to say, “It’s fine to have 


172 


MADAME CONRAD HAS A PARTY 173 

you care so much, old fellow,” which would send Pierre 
back to his book reddening at the surprise of being dis- 
covered. And the dear old Saintons, who would have 
laid them “down to dee,” if need be, for their little 
foster grandson, spared him, as far as possible, from 
every claim upon his time, so that he might be free to 
roam far and wide with Peter or to spend the hours 
quietly at his side. “Who knows that Dr. Alwyn will 
ever come this way again,” they reasoned. “Let Pierre 
see all he can of him for these few weeks. Nothing 
could be finer for the boy.” Pierre very gratefully 
accepted their sacrifice, satisfying his conscience, when 
It troubled him for not being of more use, with the 
resolve that he would work all the harder in those 
dark days coming when Peter should have gone away. 
And, Indeed, he would need to work hard, he knew, 
for however else would he ever be able to live through 
such desolate loneliness? But occasionally Pierre had 
to turn his back on Peter. As when, for Instance, after 
Marie and Helen had gone on their way to Madame 
Conrad’s, Peter proposed that he should just run home 
for his book and then come to the hotel for the rest of 
the afternoon. 

“You forget the party and all I have to see to,” 
Pierre answered almost reprovingly, and darted up the 
Rue de I’Lglise. 

Peter waited a moment until he saw him disappear 
round the corner of the church in the direction of 
Father Jerome’s, which meant that his beloved friend. 


174 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

the Cure, was now to be told of all the day’s happen- 
ings. 

It was not long before Pierre was out on the street 
again, hurrying home. The little shop had quite a run 
of custom that afternoon, but he got the attention, be- 
tween whiles as best he could, first of one and then of 
the other of his grandparents, until he made them 
understand about the party at Madame Conrad’s and 
secured their acceptance. Then he selected a box of 
notepaper from the shelf where the stationery was 
kept, and put the money for it in the till under the 
counter. It was quite a piece of extravagance on his 
part, for it was very expensive paper as those things 
go, but in his opinion he would never again have such 
an important missive to indite. It was very marvel- 
ous paper and did not speak well for his taste. A 
crude view of Chamonix clumsily reproduced in all 
the flaming colors of the rainbow reached half-way 
down the front page, but in Pierre’s eyes, alas! it 
seemed very beautiful. 

Clearing a space on the dining-room table, Pierre 
sat down to it, spreading his writing materials out be- 
fore him as though about to perform a solemn 
rite. Then he paused for a long while pondering. 
Ought he to begin just with “Dear Madame” or with 
“Dear Madame Conrad?” He decided on the latter, 
thinking it would seem more friendly to “a lonely per- 
son.” When he had got that much at last on to paper 
his ideas seemed to fall in line and he wrote on quite 
easily, with this as a result; 


MADAME CONRAD HAS A PARTY 175 

24 Rue Nationale 
Le 26 Juli 

My dear Madame Conrad: 

It’s all right about the party. Peter thinks the idea is per- 
fectly fine. He said every one, of course, would be only too 
glad to come, but I have made sure by asking each one myself, 
so that there would be no mistake, all but Hilaire, that is, who 
comes to-morrow, and Dr. and Mrs. Jones. But that doesn’t 
matter. They’ll surely come. I’m glad Helen and Marie have 
been to see you this afternoon, so the party won’t be all strangers 
to you. Here is the list: 

Docteur Peter Alwyn, Hotel des Alpes. 

Docteur et Madame Almet D. Jones, Hotel du Bois. 

Mademoiselle Helene Jones, Hotel du Bois. 

Monsieur et Madame Ruel Sainton, 24 Rue Nationale. 

Madame Marie Berard, sent my care. 

Mademoiselle Hilaire Durand, 24 Rue Nationale. 

Father Jerome, Rue de I’figlise. 

I should think Friday would be a good day. It seems strange 
to think that I really did not know you until this afternoon. 
I hope you will soon feel much less lonely. I didn’t tell you, 
did I, that we are all going up Mont Blanc as soon as Colette 
is well enough for Peter and Dr. Jones to go away for a few 
days. That’s what Hilaire is coming up for. I wish you could 
go with us, but I suppose — I suppose you are a little too large. 
I will tell you all about it when we come back. I would like 
an invitation too, please, so as to have it to keep. 

Sincerely yours, 

Pierre Arnaud. 

When this note was addressed and sealed he wrote 
across one end of the envelope, “I will come to-morrow 


176 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

and help you make the arrangements.” It was his in- 
tention to run up with it in the evening and leave it, 
Valentine fashion, at the door of Madame Conrad’s 
room. The remaining hours of the afternoon he de- 
voted to a general straightening up, which the little 
store always needed toward the close of a busy day. 
Immediately after supper he was off with his note. 

“Is she in her salon?” he asked the clerk. An- 
swered in the affirmative, he flew up the two flights of 
stairs two steps at a time, slipped it under the door, 
gave a gentle knock by way of calling attention, and 
was down stairs again and out of the hotel in less time 
than it took Madame Conrad to cross the room and 
get down to the level of the mysterious little missive. 
As she read it tears and smiles chased each other 
across her face. She was touched that her new little 
friend was so anxious to relieve her loneliness as even 
to express a desire for her company on the Mont Blanc 
excursion, and then, amused at the perfect naturalness 
with which he repeated “I suppose” in his note, as 
though he felt a little delicacy in alluding to her ex- 
ceeding largeness, and yet felt bound to be perfectly 
frank. Well, he was certainly a unique specimen, this 
little Chamoniard who refused money for himself 
and almost snatched it from her hand when it was 
meant for some one else. But the good thing was he 
had helped her to rediscover her heart. She should 
always love him for that. It had been terrible to im- 
agine that she had lost the power to feel. It was, 
indeed, like water to a thirsty soul to find she had been 


MADAME CONRAD HAS A PARTY 177 

mistaken. And in what a wholly unexpected way life 
had suddenly grown interesting. As she sat down to 
draw up a form of invitation her hand actually trembled 
a little with excitement. She liked that sign, too. It 
meant that a change had come over her; that the longer 
or shorter stretch of time she had yet to live was to 
cease, for a while at least, to be monotonous. She 
wrote Pierre’s invitation first, a very polite and formal 
affair such as French custom seems to demand, but at 
the foot of the page she wrote with delightful infor- 
mality, “Bless your heart,” heavily underscoring the 
three little words. It seemed to him as he read them 
that his heart never had been quite so blessed. 

Pierre went on the morrow “to make the arrange- 
ments,” and they proved to be on a scale that quite took 
his breath away. Madame Conrad had decided to 
make it a supper party; the supper to be served at a 
large, round table in her salon. The chef was inter- 
viewed, and no end of delicious dishes were included 
in the menu. Then Pierre was sent to select the neces- 
sary number of place-cards from an assortment dis- 
played in the Saintons’ store window. As they were 
hand-painted, Pierre made the suggestion that some 
others inside and less expensive might answer. Had it 
not been promptly turned down, however, he would 
have been much disappointed. He had something of 
the feelings of a millionaire as he made his choice re- 
gardless of cost, realizing the while that the little till 
under the counter would be the richer by several five- 
franc pieces before he was through. On his way back 


178 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

to Madame Conrad’s, he corralled the florist, whose 
store was next the Saintons’, and took him up to the 
hotel with him, as he had been bidden to do. Then he 
enjoyed a few more extravagant moments as he lis- 
tened to the orders given. 

Hilaire arrived that same afternoon, and Pierre, if 
you will believe it, actually forgot to turn up in time 
to go to meet her. Peter, who affectionately hung 
around the little store much of the time, volunteered 
to take his place, to the relief of the Saintons, for the 
arrival of a long-expected new edition of a guide-book 
had brought quite a number of tourists to the store. 
Of course, it was no disappointment to Hilaire to be 
welcomed by Peter, who made some irrelevant excuse 
for Pierre’s not being on hand. If he had said more 
he would have had to explain the absorbing character 
of the business in which Pierre was engaged, and he 
was going to leave that pleasure to Pierre, to whom it 
rightfully belonged. 

Never did a happier girl than Hilaire set foot in 
Chamonix. A change from the intolerable sameness 
of her young life, and a change of a kind of which 
Tante Lucia wholly approved, had come at last, and 
the realization of the new delights in store for her 
made her heart beat fast and her face glow. As she 
entered the doorway fairly flying into Grand’mere 
Sainton’s arms, she was a picture, and the admiration 
of the customers in the store was very evident. 

Meanwhile Pierre, leaning back in a cushioned chair 
with leg over leg in a comfortable, settled-down posi- 


MADAME CONRAD HAS A PARTY 179 

don, had sat leisurely discussing details with Madame 
Conrad. You can imagine his chagrin when he heard 
two distant whistles and knew for a certainty that they 
signaled the outgoing of the train that had brought 
Hilaire. “Mon Dieu, I forgot her,” was his only 
explanation and, reaching for his cap, he availed him- 
self of the Frenchiest of French leaves and was gone. 
He was not long behind Hilaire in reaching the store 
and breathed much more easily when he discovered that 
not a word had been said by anyone regarding Madame 
Conrad and the party. Straightway, without giving 
her the chance to lay aside her wraps, he made Hilaire 
sit down and hear the whole story from the moment 
of the finding of the pendant to the completion of the 
minutest details of “the arrangements.” And Hilaire 
was a most satisfactory listener. She remembered the 
large lady whom Pierre had rushed back to thank per- 
fectly, and the whole tale had a thrilling interest for 
her. 

The party itself proved a great success. Peter was 
at his genial best, and that meant that he was simply 
irresistible, bubbling over with a contagious kind of 
good spirits. When Peter was in that mood nothing 
was left to be desired. Pierre threw his cap into the 
air when he made the discovery, because you could 
not feel absolutely sure of Peter beforehand. Some- 
times a dark mood would settle down over him most 
unexpectedly, and then he was worse than no use at 
all. But from the moment that Pierre met him on 
their way up to Madame Conrad’s he knew that the 


i8o LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


success of the party was assured. It was at that point 
that Pierre’s cap flew up into the air. It flew up again 
when, as they neared the hotel, Marie took Pierre by 
the hand and whispered, “Colette knew me this morn- 
ing.” Was there ever in the world such a glorious 
time? One beautiful thing after another fairly crowd- 
ing upon each other’s heels. 

But there was one arrangement in connection with 
the party that was as much a surprise to Pierre as 
to anybody; one plan about which he had not been 
consulted. Granny Sainton alone had been in Madame 
Conrad’s confidence, and all one morning, when she 
was supposed to be visiting some sick people of the 
Cure’s parish, she had been on a shopping expedition 
in Madame Conrad’s company. 

As a result in the center of the table stood a sort 
of gilded chariot, harnessed to four little toy chamois 
and heaped high with packages held in place by a layer 
of pink tissue paper neatly pasted to the chariot’s inner 
edge. Attached to each package was a pink satin 
ribbon, and these ribbons, drawn through perfora- 
tions in the tissue paper, diverged like the spokes of 
a wheel to the rim of the table, each fastened at the 
farther end to the place-card of the person for whom 
the package was intended. All went merrily at the 
supper table, thanks to everybody as well as to Peter, 
but no one, perhaps, enjoyed it quite so much as 
Madame Conrad herself. That she should have all 
these friends about her — for friends they were from 
the first — seemed just a wonderful fairy tale, and she 


MADAME CONRAD HAS A PARTY i8i 


thought she must be dreaming. The climax of the 
good time came when, after all the glasses had been 
removed from the table, the ribbons were pulled and 
the presents opened. You would never have thought 
the town of Chamonix could supply so many appro- 
priate gifts. For each member of the Mont Blanc 
party there was some useful tourist contrivance. For 
Grand’mere Sainton and Marie there were two beauti- 
ful lapin Angora house-jackets, which Madame Bo- 
vaird had made and Madame Conrad had bought at 
Monsieur Bovaird’s shop at Aix for her own possible 
use some day. Grand-pere Sainton and the Cure had 
each silver-headed cane, which, done up in pink paper 
and laid side by side, had formed a sort of track for 
the chariot. They both confessed to Madame Conrad 
that they had long coveted those two canes hanging 
side by side in the Saintons’ own shop. All of this, 
of course, proved unusual thoughtfulness on Madame 
Conrad’s part. It seems rather remarkable that she 
should ever have imagined she had permanently mis- 
laid her heart. And little Colette had not been for- 
gotten; Marie carried home with her a beautifully em- 
broidered Japanese kimono for the convalescent days 
coming on. Oh, yes, it was a success, that party I 
“I should feel awful to think it is over,” Pierre 
confided to Hilaire as “the party” took itself home in 
the moonlight, “if it were not for the Mont Blanc trip 
now only three days away.” 


CHAPTER TWELFTH 


IN MARCHING ORDER 


Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains; 
They crowned him long ago 


On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds 
With a diadem of snow. 


—Byron. 


HE three intervening days dragged their slow 



1 length along, for even the many details of 
preparation could not make them seem anything but 
interminable to the younger members of the party. But 
at last the hour struck, and the whole merry crowd, 
gathered in the Saintons’ store, were taking leave of 
those staying behind. And the party included an un- 
expected member, as far as Pierre was concerned. 
Equipped in the nattiest climbing costume, short skirt, 
Norfolk jacket, leggings to match, and a very becoming 
soft hat, Helen stood face to face with Pierre. 

“I am a surprise for you,” she said beaming, and 
there was no question about the surprise, for Pierre 
stood staring at her the embodiment of astonishment. 
His look was inscrutable, and with good reason, so 
many thoughts were in conflict. He remembered the 


IN MARCHING ORDER 183 

way he had dismissed Helen as not for a moment to 
be considered, and yet here she was, and, as it was 
Peter’s party, Peter himself must have planned it. 
No wonder the color came surging over face and fore- 
head, for he was right up against the fact that he had 
been mean and horrid. 

“You are awfully surprised, aren’t you?” Helen said 
significantly. 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Why?” 

“I was such a cad; I thought you were too little to 
go and, besides, I told Peter you were.” 

“But you’re glad I’m not, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, I am,” with a sincerity not to be questioned. 

“You see, I’ve been climbing everywhere with 
Father ever since we came to Chamonix, and I’m in 
splendid training. And besides Peter said he would 
even rather take the climb more slowly than not have 
me go.” 

But there was no time for further conversation, for 
the whole party was outside by this time, the guides 
stood waiting, and Helen and Pierre had to hurry their 
good-byes. As they all moved down the street, walk- 
ing for convenience, as does everybody, in the middle 
of the driveway, Helen’s mother and Madame Con- 
rad and the Saintons stood in the doorway waving 
them the cheeriest of send-offs. 

Pierre scurried ahead and guided Peter a little apart 
from the others. Peter knew perfectly well what was 
coming. 


i 84 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“I am glad as can be that she is going, really I am, 
but, Peter, didn’t you say she was too little yourself?” 

“No, Monsieur, I did not. I never so much as 
thought it. It was yourself who rather mercilessly 
closed the door of this excursion in the face of her little 
ladyship. I only said in answer that I knew somebody 
who wasn’t too little, and that was Hilaire. But you 
know a person can say one thing and be thinking an- 
other, and I made up my mind then and there that go 
Helen should, if her father and mother could be 
brought to consider it.” 

“But why did you not let me know, Peter, when it 
was decided?” 

“Why do you suppose? I just told Helen we would 
keep it a secret from you, but I did not tell her the 
reason why.” 

“Did you think I didn’t deserve to be told?” 

“I knew you didn’t. I was clean ashamed of you.” 

“Did you think I was a little jealous?” 

“I knew you were, and not so very little either.” 

“It’s because I care so much for you, Peter.” 

“The more you care the better, but I don’t like that 

kind of proof. I forgive you if ” and Peter 

stopped abruptly, took Pierre by the shoulders and 
looked straight into his eyes, “if you are really glad 
now that she’s along.” And in Pierre’s answering 
look there was perfect assurance. 

“I told Helen just now, Peter, when she asked me 
why I was so much surprised, that I had been so mean 
as to say I thought she was too little. I’ll make up 


IN MARCHING ORDER 185 

for it all on the trip, see if I don't.” And then Pierre 
felt a squeeze on his arm that meant — “All right, old 
fellow, you are out and out forgiven.” 

Meanwhile the departure of the party from the 
town attracted considerable attention. They were such 
a nice looking crowd and were apparently in such high 
feather. They swung along in a breezy way and with 
such bright and happy faces that even the guides, to 
whom it was all such an old story, seemed to catch 
something of their buoyancy. 

A girl in peasant costume, with half a dozen rings 
of bread strung on her pretty arm, stood stock-still 
and stared at them, shaking her head from side to side 
in a way that said perfectly plainly, “My, what would 
I not give to be one of you I” 

If there had been any way to gauge the spirits of the 
party, I think Hilaire’s would have been found to have 
soared highest. It seemed impossible for her to ac- 
commodate herself to the reasonable pace of a start 
for a long climb. For the first hour she was a few 
hundred feet in the lead most of the time, her own 
guide, much amused, keeping chivalrously at her side, 
but occasionally gaining a little coveted let-up by call- 
ing her attention to the fact that they were once more 
far in advance. But when it came to appreciation of 
the situation — that here they were, a jolly, congenial 
party, all in good trim, off for one of the grandest 
climbs the world has to offer — why then I do not ques- 
tion but that Peter would have taken the prize, and 
for this reason ; It is a fact, for which you must take 


i86 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


my word, incredible as it may seem to you, that one 
has to be well along in life to know the real depth and 
the real height of some great experiences. Not that 
all well-along people know them. Some seem quite 
in their dotage by that time ; but others who have suc- 
ceeded in keeping heart and mind alert have learned 
some things quite too wonderful for words, of which 
you youngsters, in all the glory of your youngness, have 
not the slightest conception. All this just by way of 
saying that Peter, on the whole, was, perhaps, the most 
appreciative. But what is the use of drawing com- 
parisons when everybody was enjoying everything to 
his uttermost? 

The first objective point on the route up Mont Blanc 
is Pierre Pointue. Here are discernible the two great 
ridges radiating from the summit into the valley, and 
enclosing the opening through which the trail winds. 
On leaving the level below, the trail strikes almost at 
once into steep forest with occasional breaks of pas- 
ture-land, gradually climbing past the lower end of the 
Glacier des Bossons, the great glacier seen as you come 
by train into Chamonix. 

The climb from the valley to the summit requires 
about fourteen hours of actual walking, for an indi- 
vidual of average capacity and under ordinary weather 
conditions. But Peter had thought a leisurely ascent 
best for all, and had announced to the chef-guide in 
the office at Chamonix that they would take at least 
three days for the trip. Besides they had no desire to 
hurry, nor any ambition to make a record of any sort. 


IN MARCHING ORDER 187 

It would all be over and done with in only too short 
a time in any case. A whole month together would 
have been more to their liking. 

Starting at half-past eight, the party made the cabin 
at Pierre Pointue by half-past eleven. They all de- 
clared they felt perfectly able to go right on, and yet 
luncheon and a rest did probably seem rather attrac- 
tive to most of the party. 

Resting, however, was at a discount with Helen and 
Pierre. They might not be quite so ecstatic as Hilaire, 
or so deeply appreciative as Peter, but for out and out 
curiosity they were a team that distanced all the rest. 
And there was so much to be investigated! For a 
while they roamed about among the carrier donkeys 
that had accompanied them thus far laden with sup- 
plies. Indeed, they had made friends with them en 
route, so that they were now on positive terms of in- 
timacy with some of them. One obstinate little fellow, 
who in every altercation with his driver and his fellow 
donkeys as to right of way or rate of speed had come 
out on top, had specially won their hearts, and they 
took leave of him most reluctantly, for the donkeys 
were to be left behind, knowing that it meant good-bye 
to a lot of fun. Then they turned their attention to 
the curiously flattened barrels for supplies, which had 
been brought up secured upon a frame on each side of 
the donkeys’ backs. It was immensely interesting, too, 
to watch the guides getting everything into marching 
order. There was real science in the clever way sup- 
plies were disposed of, so as to prove least cumber- 


i88 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

some and to distribute weight equally. While they 
watched these preparations going forward, they sat 
down on the well-cushioned ribs of a gentle little don- 
key, Annette by name, who had lain down for a good 
nap the instant she was freed from load and bridle, 
and had been allowed to sleep on undisturbed. They 
were careful, however, to take their seats on the out- 
side, so to speak, away from protruding legs, for there 
was just a possibility that Annette might at any mo- 
ment demonstrate her gentleness by an exception to 
the rule. In the intervals of absorption in what was 
going on about them, Pierre improved the opportunity 
to carry on a little conversation. 

“Do you remember, Helen,” he began, with the 
air of one intent upon gaining information, “that first 
day, when you came over and talked with me by the 
statue, you said you had two great friends, too, who 
climbed bigger mountains than any round here? I 
don’t remember their names.” 

“Oh, yes, Lincoln and Brooks.” 

“Abraham Lincoln?” 

“Yes, Abraham Lincoln.” 

“I’ve heard of him.” 

“Heard of him? My sakes! you ought to know 
everything about him. We love him more than any- 
body in the States, North and South alike.” 

“I know about North and South. I know about Lin- 
coln, too, a little. Peter has told me, but he did not 
say a word about his climbing mountains.” 

“Well, probably he did all the same.” 


IN MARCHING ORDER 189 

‘‘Probably he did? Why, Helen, you bragged about 
the mountains he and Brooks had climbed.” 

“I had to, because you asked what mountains they 
had climbed, as though they were no good at all unless 
they had climbed mountains.” 

“And so as you were going to fib, you thought you’d 
make them good and high. Higher than ours, you 
said.” 

“It’s true. They had climbed mountains. Not your 
kind, but different and really bigger. I meant the 
awfully hard things, one after another, that Lincoln 
tried to get to the top of and always did at last.” 

Helen was very much surprised at her own clever- 
ness, and Pierre turned and looked at her with down- 
right respect. She had not seemed to him the sort 
of girl who would look at things in that deeper way. 

“I meant to explain to you sometime,” Helen added, 
“but I’ve never thought of it from that day to this.” 

“And who was Brooks?” asked Pierre in a defer- 
ential tone born of his new respect. 

“Oh, Brooks was a man whom a lot of people love 
as much as Lincoln. I’ve heard almost as much about 
him. He had a great church in Boston, and after- 
ward he was a bishop, but people said he was a great 
deal bigger man than a bishop, and by that they didn’t 
mean ” 

“Oh, I know,” Pierre interrupted, wanting to show 
that he didn’t need to be told the same sort of thing 
twice, and that he had some intuition; “I suppose they 
meant there was more to him even than to a bishop.” 


190 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“Yes. There were a great many bishops in the 
world, but only one Phillips Brooks, and so they wanted 
him to be just himself. I think that on the whole I love 
Phillips Brooks a little better than Lincoln, just as 
you love Balmat, because I seem to get nearer to him. 
My father and mother went to his church when they 
were young, and they are forever telling me about him. 
Pretty soon now I am going to begin to read one of 
his Year Books — that’s a book with a page for every 
day from something he has written. I know I shall 
love it because I love him already. Some day Pll show 
you his picture. Mother has it in a case and always 
takes it away with her. It’s funny, isn’t it, that I have 
two dear friends whom I have never seen, just as you 
have the Doctor and Balmat?” 

“Yes, it’s funny and it’s very nice. I don’t like 
the people who have nothing in mind except what’s 
right straight in front of them.” And then they both 
sat thinking a while, watching one of the guides sharp- 
ening the iron of an alpenstock. 

With one eye open, Annette was watching and think- 
ing, too; then a deep in-breath, a sudden plunge, and 
she landed on all fours, with Helen and Pierre flat 
on their faces a few feet away. Annette at once made 
her way to a tuft of hay sticking out from the top of 
a packing barrel, so it was easy to determine of what 
she had been thinking. She had a look about her, 
too, as of one who had waked to the indignity of find- 
ing herself very much sat upon and had resented it. 


IN MARCHING ORDER 


191 

Fortunately neither Pierre nor Helen was any the 
worse for this resentment, so forcibly expressed. 

By this time luncheon was ready and by this time, 
too, everybody was ready to press forward, so they 
took no more time for it than was absolutely necessary. 
And now came the most exciting preparation yet — 
the roping together of the party. They were divided 
into three separate groups: Pierre and Hilaire and 
their two guides; Dr. Jones and Helen and their two 
guides; and Peter in the lead with two guides all to 
himself. The party all told numbered fifteen, includ- 
ing two extra guides and two porters. 

With this roping together the thrilling part of the 
expedition began. The ropes meant there would be 
danger, and danger has “a bright face” for many 
grownups and most children. As for myself, I don’t 
care for it very much as I grow older. I do not even 
care to write about it. When you set about writing a 
story it seems as though the people in it might consult 
your preferences. But not they! They go ahead, 
make their own plans, and it’s for you to chronicle 
them as best you can. 

In this matter of danger-loving Peter was as crazy 
as any of them, and off they all started with a whoop 
and a cheer, hardly able to wait till they should come 
to the most ticklish places. The trail almost immedi- 
ately on leaving Pierre Pointue begins to wind upward 
over snow and ice. Soon they reached a stretch where 
they were allowed to speak only in whispers, for fear 
the slightest reverberation might bring a small ava- 


192 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

lanche down from above, and had to look carefully to 
every step for fear of starting one rolling down the 
mountain side below them. Every now and then along 
the trail came the orders for extremest caution. There 
were great overhanging masses of snow of enormous 
weight that season needing nothing more, the guides 
feared, than the impact of a few accelerated waves of 
ether to start them in a course that would mean death 
and destruction. Four hours, glorious hours, they 
would have told you, of this sort of thing brought them 
to the Grands Mulets, where they were to spend the 
night. 

The arrival of travelers at the little inn, standing out 
on its great ledge of rock, is always a matter of im- 
portance, and the host and hostess were in the doorway 
smiling a welcome to their expected visitors. Helen, 
in her warm-hearted, delightful fashion, made friends 
with them at once and found to her surprise that they 
bore the name of Balmat. 

“May I stay with you?” she said to Madame Bal- 
mat, as the others were getting their belongings to- 
gether from the guides in preparation for the night, 
and taking in their surroundings. “I am so surprised 
to meet any Balmats. I did not know there were any 
alive now.” 

“Oh, yes, we are very much alive,” came the laugh- 
ing answer. “We have to be, to keep warm and con- 
tented up in this cold, lonely place. But if you want 
to talk to me I’m afraid you will have to follow me 


IN MARCHING ORDER 


193 

about, because you see I have a great deal to do to 
get supper for so many people.” 

“I can help you,” and appropriating an apron she 
found lying across a chair Helen fastened it around 
her neck, instead of her waist, because of its length. 
And she did help in such a thorough-going way that 
Madame Balmat was only too glad to answer the 
questions coming thick and fast. 

“Of course, you are related to Jacques Balmat,” 
Helen began. 

“We think we must be, but we are not sure. You 
see, it is a good long while, a hundred and twenty years, 
since he died, but we know that my husband is not 
directly descended from him.” 

“That little boy over there,” Helen explained, point- 
ing to Pierre, “can tell you everything about him. He 
often goes and sits by the statue in the square and 
pretends that Jacques is alive.” 

“Oh, yes, we know about that. WeVe always known 
Pierre.” 

“Jacques seems like a friend of mine now, too. I 
can see him plainly where he stands in the square 
from the window of the chalet where we are spending 
the summer. They say the medallion on the boulder 
in memory of him down in Chamonix looks more 
like him, but I don’t pay any attention to it, because 
it isn’t so good-looking as the statue. I should think 
you would be very proud to have the same name.” 

“Oh, yes; I am, and I think my husband must really 


194 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

have some of his blood in his veins to be willing to live 
up in this bleak place three months of the year.” 

“But you haven’t any of his blood in your veins. 
What makes you willing?” 

“Being fond of my husband, I suppose,” and 
Madame Balmat’s face grew a deeper red. 

“I seem to have a way of making people blush,” 
was Helen’s mental comment; “I wonder if I ask too 
many questions.” 

She certainly did have rather a persistent method 
of extracting desired information, and yet her interest 
in the affairs of others was always so ingenuous and 
disinterested that they rather liked her for it and 
gave many a confidence that could easily have been 
withheld. 

“I should think Pierre would have thought to tell 
me about your being named Balmat,” Helen said, half 
accusingly. 

“Why, that doesn’t seem to me so very important 
or half so interesting as a lot of other things. Did 
he tell you that when they started to choose a good 
foundation for this house they found a rock with 
Jacques Balmat’s initials cut in it and the date 1786?” 

“No, he never told me,” as though this were un- 
forgivable. “Will you show them to me?” 

“You will have to just run in and see them for your- 
self some day in the Mairie down at Chamonix. The 
part of the rock on which they were carved was moved 
very carefully to the valley as soon as possible after 
it was discovered.” 


IN MARCHING ORDER 195 

“There Is just one unfortunate thing about that first 
climb up this mountain,” Madame Balmat went on to 
say, “and that Is that there was a young Dr. Paccard 
with Jacques, about whom you hear very little. Dr. 
Paccard printed an account of the trip, but every copy 
of it has disappeared somehow or other.” 

“Was Jacques to blame?” 

“Yes, a little, I fear. Did you ever hear of Alex- 
andre Dumas?” 

“Oh, yes, my father just adores him and I know 
about ‘The Three Guardsmen’ because sometimes he 
reads a page or two aloud to me.” 

“Well, Dumas came here to Chamonix and wrote 
Balmat’s story, but Balmat was an old, old man then 
and got things very much mixed In the telling, and 
Dumas put In a lot of flourishes of his own besides; 
so it Isn’t a reliable story at all, and Jacques gets pretty 
much all the glory.” 

“Does Pierre know about this?” 

“Why, yes, he must, I think.” 

“He never told me that either.” And Helen looked 
as though Jacques Balmat would have to step down 
from his pedestal as far as she was concerned. 

By this time the table was set and Madame Balmat 
was soon too busy with the actual making of the sup- 
per to give her mind to anything else. Helen forbore 
to question further and simply stood near, lending a 
hand now and then as she found opportunity. At 
supper she sat next to Pierre, and as usual what was 
uppermost in mind soon found vent. 


196 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“Pierre, I have been talking to Madame Balmat 
about Jacques.” 

“Yes, I heard you.” 

“She told me one thing I didn’t like to hear at all. 
It seems he took all the glory of climbing Mont Blanc 
to himself when there was another man right at his 
side all the way.” 

Pierre laid his knife and fork down on his plate, 
though he had but just taken his first taste of a very 
good supper, and turned himself squarely toward her. 

“Now, Helen, listen. I know more about Jacques 
Balmat than any one around here, and I’m not going 
to let anybody spoil him for me.” Helen looked as 
though she thought she might have made a mistake. 
She felt quite sure it wouldn’t be wise for any one to 
say anything against her own two heroes. “Every- 
body knows that Dr. Paccard went up the mountain 
with Jacques and that he was a fine, brave man. But 
it was Jacques who had found out the way. He had 
tried it by himself over and over again and had spent 
a lot of time exploring the sides of the mountains, 
making up his mind how it might be possible to get 
to the top; and when it was at last made up he and 
Dr. Paccard set out together and they got to the top. 
Why? Because of the way he had worked it all out 
beforehand. He just wouldn’t let anything discourage 
him. He spent one terrible night, higher up the moun- 
tain than we are now, that would have kept most men 
from ever trying again. No, Helen, you don’t spoil 
my Jacques for me.” And as Helen, who really had 


IN MARCHING ORDER 


197 

only wanted to know the truth, seemed quite humbled, 
Pierre turned his attention to his supper. 

“That’s all perfectly true,” said Dr. Jones, thor- 
oughly approving of Pierre’s defense, “but all the same 
some of us hope that some day there will be a memo- 
rial in Chamonix for Dr. Paccard as well as for the 
others.” 

“So do I,” said Pierre with great magnanimity. 

Soon after supper, by seven o’clock, in fact, they 
all turned in, for they were to make a very early start 
the next morning; and, as they had the little inn all to 
themselves, there were no disturbing sounds. 

“I wish they were going to stay a week,” whispered 
Susette to her husband, as she put away the tea things 
with great care not to click dish against dish. 

“So do I,” he answered, in what might be called a 
stage whisper, which is really no whisper at all, and 
so was heard perfectly plainly in the tiny room on the 
other side of the board partition. “It’s the finest 
crowd we’ve ever had under this roof, from the man 
they all call Peter down to la charmante petite Ameri- 
caine” 

Helen induged in a suppressed giggle. 

“Did you hear that, Hilaire?” 

“Yes, I did, and I quite agree with them, but now 
you go to sleep.” 


CHAPTER THIRTEENTH 


A DANGEROUS RIDE 

Awake, my Heart, awake! 

Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn! 

Utter forth God and fill the hills with praise! 

Thou too, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks. 

Oft 'from whose feet the avalanche, unheard. 

Shoots downward, glittering through the pine serene 
Into the depths of clouds that veil thy breast. 

— Hymn Before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouni, Coleridge. 

A t three the next morning Le Moyne, the head 
guide, woke the other guides and the men of 
the party. A very early rising was desirable so that 
they might have the benefit of every moment of light 
and so make the day, in which they must accomplish the 
climb to the summit and the return before nightfall to 
the Grands Mulets, as long as possible. The more 
light the less need for haste. Hilaire and Helen 
opened their eyes instantly at Susette’s cheery greeting. 
Both had been dreaming they were on their way up 
the mountain; so they were glad to bound out of bed 
and change the dream for the reality. 

A jolly breakfast of coffee and rolls, and then they 
were off, roped together again in three groups as be- 

198 


A DANGEROUS RIDE 199 

fore, and carefully choosing their steps by lantern light, 
as It was still dark for the first half-hour. Far away In 
the valley they could distinguish five lines of light 
radiating like stars and showing that the lamps were 
still burning In the streets of Chamonix. Soon the 
daylight began to touch the heights above them, to the 
children’s regret, for they loved the darkness and the 
mystery and everything else that added to the excite- 
ment. They had far more of It, however, than they 
had any heart for before the night again brought round 
the need for lanterns. The trail starts out at once 
over the rocks and Ice of the Glacier des Bossons and 
up and up they climbed for three laborious hours, across 
far more ticklish places than they had met on the way 
to the Grands Mulets. Then they came to the Grand 
Plateau, a comparatively level space lying below the 
ridges that stretch up toward the summit and somewhat 
shut In. There sometimes even the guides themselves 
feel a touch of mountain sickness; a faintness that 
makes It seem Impossible either to press on or to turn 
back. 

“It’s lucky we’ve got a good breeze In here this 
morning,” said Le Moyne, Peter’s guide, waiting for 
the others to come within speaking distance and evi- 
dently feeling that he wanted to congratulate all hands 
on their good fortune. “We don’t always have It and 
then ” 

“Then what happens?” for half the time Helen 
could not wait for people to finish their sentences. To 


200 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


show her “what happens,” Le Moyne threw himself 
flat, face downward, in the snow. 

“Allez !” called Dr. Jones, taking up the inspiriting 
word constantly used by the guides, “if you do that 
again, Le Moyne,. I’ll go down with you,” and as he 
looked a little white they wisely changed the subject 
and moved on. If you change the subject and move on 
you get the best of many troublesome things. 

In a little while they began again to ascend over the 
rocks of the Col des Bosses, and with the better air 
came evidences of more animation — for the guides had 
observed one or two other suspicious cases besides the 
doctor’s. The exposed situations to which they came 
now and again seemed to revive the whole party, 
everybody growing more and more jubilant with the 
thought of reaching the top. All the same they kept 
religiously Windham’s rules for climbing, made, as he 
said in his quaint letter describing that first trip to 
the Mer de Glace, in order to prevent those who were 
most in wind from fatiguing the rest by pushing on 
too fast. They prescribed, you perhaps remember, 
that no one should go out of his rank. That he who 
led the way should go a slow and even pace. That 
whoever found himself fatigued or out of breath might 
call for a halt. These precautions were doubtless as 
useful to Peter’s party as to Windham’s, a hundred 
and sixty years before. 

Five hours from the Grands Mulets they came to a 
lonely cabin, known as the Vallot Refuge, and well 
named a refuge, since it enables many a mountaineer to 


A DANGEROUS RIDE 


201 


gain a rest within protecting walls that makes possible 
the two hours more of climbing before the summit is 
achieved. Not infrequently it marks the limit of en- 
durance for some exhausted climber, who thankfully 
lies down to wait the return of his party, and to pull 
himself together for the difficult descent to the valley. 
The Refuge is named for Monsieur Vallot, a scientist, 
who asked permission of the Commune de Chamonix 
to build an observatory there, a request granted on 
the condition that he should make the observatory also 
serve as a rest house for travelers. It was built in 
Chamonix in the spring of 1890, in a way so that it 
could easily be put together, was carried up to its rocky 
foundation piece by piece by an army of guides and 
porters, and was ready for occupancy by July of the 
same year. 

It had been agreed that there should be a rest of an 
hour at the Refuge, to which every one took kindly 
with the exception of Pierre and Helen. They sat 
down, because Peter had said that sit they must, in the 
shade of the hut, trying to while away what seemed 
to them an interminable hour, and indulging in a sort 
of scornful pity of those who found the rest desirable. 
They were really quite disappointed in Hilaire, who 
settled herself for a nap on a blanket, gave her watch 
(Mrs. Conrad’s gift) into their keeping, and forbade 
them to speak to her till the hour was up. For the last 
quarter of the hour they gave their almost undivided 
attention to the minute hand, speaking in no uncertain 
way to Hilaire on the very second; and five minutes 


202 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


later they had every one in line again en route for the 
top, with every one feeling fully equal to whatever dif- 
ficult places they were yet to encounter. But nobody’s 
head failed him, which proves they had steady 
heads; and after a brief rest on a slight downward 
slope — the only one in the entire ascent — they scaled 
the last high ridge and precisely at twelve o’clock 
reached the summit of Mont Blanc. As by common 
consent they stood closely grouped. They had achieved 
a difficult climb together, together they would enjoy 
the sense of triumph, shoulder to shoulder; but at first 
no one said a word. Everything was in their favor. 
Cloudless skies and a peerless view surpassing all ex- 
pectations awed even the children into silence. But 
every one knew what the others were feeling. Thanks 
to a Divine Inventor a marvelous kind of wireless has 
been in operation between kindred souls all down the 
ages. The guides, also silent, stood a little apart look- 
ing on with delight. It was a great thing to have 
brought them all safely to the top, for they had agreed 
with Jacques Balmat at the inn that they had never 
guided a finer party or one that entered so keenly into 
everything. 

“They’re so sensible and so nice-looking, so full of 
fun and so knowing,” had been Le Moyne’s verdict. 
“As for that man Peter, he’s a wonder. I’ve lost my 
heart to him altogether.” Another name added to the 
roll of Peter’s unconscious conquests. 

Peter had taken off his hat the second they reached 
the summit and the others had followed his example. 


A DANGEROUS RIDE 203 

The guides liked that In them, too. They loved to 
have their old Mont Blanc treated with reverence. 
When tongues at last were loosed there were many 
questions to be asked, and the guides were kept busy. 
Every one wanted to learn the names of the whole 
panorama of peaks by heart, and everything else that 
would help to fix all they were seeing and enjoying so 
clearly in mind as never to be forgotten. They had 
only one half hour to spend on the summit, for Peter 
had Insisted that the guides should allow a margin of 
at least an hour In making the return trip to the Grands 
Mulets, which they planned to reach before nightfall. 
The precious half hour seemed a minute in passing, but 
even a second can suffice for a lifelong memory. At the 
half hour’s end they began the descent, roped together 
as before In groups of three; but this time Pierre’s 
request to be with Peter for a while had been granted, 
so that Helen had two guides to herself, which she 
did not In the least mind. She had a way of appro- 
priating everything that appeared desirable, people in- 
cluded, and, as the people generally seemed to enjoy 
the proceeding, there was no harm done unless It may 
have Inclined her imperious ladyship to be just a little 
more imperious still. 

The descent Is more difficult than the ascent. It is 
so hard to keep on the brakes, while. In order to in- 
sure greater safety, all have to be roped more closely 
together. In case of a misstep or getting accidentally 
under too much headway, everything depends upon the 
rear guide. It is he who must so firmly plant feet and 


204 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

axe in the more ticklish places as to bear the dead 
weight, if need be, of those ahead of him. All the 
perils of the climb are more in evidence on the way 
down, that is, you realize them more. In ascending 
you have the constant relief of swift glances to the 
luring heights above you. As you watch your steps in 
descending you are likely to take in also the next peril- 
ous point below you, so that it is a more difficult task 
to keep your head. Every one felt this and there was 
far less talking. Having made their way with greatest 
caution along the narrow ridge Tournette, where the 
path for some eight hundred feet and more is only 
five or six inches wide with a deep abyss on either side, 
they stopped a few moments to rest and be thankful. 
Below the ridge, where the walking is comparatively 
easy, they were able to make good time; at one point 
near the Grand Plateau they slid for a distance of 
some hundred and fifty feet on the firm crust of the 
snow. Everything went finely all the way down, though 
for a mile or two, where the surface ice had softened 
since they went over it a few hours before, they broke 
through at almost every step, plunging into the snow 
up to their knees. Now and then the ropes would be 
drawn very taut as one or another,. losing his balance, 
struggled to regain his footing. But they reached the 
Grands Mulets all in good season, a whole hour earlier 
than they had expected. Susette, who had kept on the 
watch, had tea and toasted muffins ready for them in 
short order, and for the guides something more sub- 
stantial and more to their taste. While they ate 


A DANGEROUS RIDE 


205 

Jacques sat, his chair tipped back against the wall, en- 
tertaining them with a description of a great overhang- 
ing mass of snow that had piled itself up off to the right 
of the inn sometime during the previous night. 

‘‘It’s just like a great white castle,” he explained. 
“There’s a tower at one end as well shaped as any 
castle tower in all France, and a ridge the whole length 
of it in front that looks precisely like the low wall of a 
moat. Oh, it’s a wonder! There never was anything 
like it ’round here. I took Susette down to have a 
sight of it soon after I discovered it this morning. It 
must be more beautiful still in the afterglow of a sun- 
set like this. It will probably break up before morn- 
ing.” 

The little party grew perceptibly excited as they 
listened. The children looked at Peter and Peter at 
the children, and then as by common consent they all 
looked over to the guides. 

“How far is it?” asked Peter. 

“It’s a good quarter of a mile from here.” 

“Oh, could we, do you think?” pleaded Helen. 

“Well, it depends, I should say, upon what the guides 
think. Please remember that we started at three 
o’clock this morning. I shouldn’t wonder if they had 
had enough of it.” But in spite of his words, Peter 
looked every whit as eager as Helen herself. “What 
do you say, Le Moyne?” 

Le Moyne glanced from one guide to the other. 

“We’re all more than willing, sir,” was the cheery 
answer. “It won’t take more than a half hour there 


2o6 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


and back, and there’s a good hour and a half of day- 
light left. All the boys are glad to throw in a bit of 
extra guiding; we agreed this morning you’re the finest 
party, all told, we’ve ever had the pleasure of having 
in tow,” which highly complimentary remark naturally 
made “the party” very happy. Quickly disposing of 
the remainder of the muffins and tea, they all turned 
their backs on the inn and roped together more for 
the sake of making better time than for safety, soon 
arrived at the castle. Jacques led them to the exact 
spot from which he had found it to be most effective, 
and which was yet well out of reach should it by any 
chance suddenly commence to slide from its founda- 
tions. But the glory of it excelled all that Jacques had 
told them and all that any one could possibly tell. 
Never again in this world could they hope to look 
upon such a marvel of beauty and splendor. The great 
mass of snow caught the Alpine glow in such a way that 
it seemed to be illumined from within, and for white- 
ness it rivaled the great white throne of The Revela- 
tion. 

A long, long while they stood gazing up into a ver- 
itable heaven, and speaking, when any one cared to 
speak at all, in faintest whispers. They were all aware 
by this time how so slight a thing as the flight of a 
bird may start an avalanche, and the steepness of the 
mountainside to which the castle clung proved that it 
could not have a strong hold upon it. After a time 
Peter, who, with Pierre’s aid, had been discovering 
some new glories of wall and rampart by means of his 


A DANGEROUS RIDE 


207 


glass, signaled to his guide to pass it on to Hilaire 
and Susette, who were standing on a ridge of rock some 
fifty feet away. 

“Don’t stir, sir,” Le Moyne cautioned, freeing him- 
self from the noose at his end of the rope, as was neces- 
sary to do Peter’s bidding. But just as he reached 
Hilaire, a look of speechless horror on her face, fol- 
lowed instantly by a terrific roar, made him turn in an 
agony of fear. He caught a glimpse of Peter and 
Pierre ; and then in an instant they were borne out of 
sight and a yawning crevasse gaped wide where they 
had stood. For a few seconds came a loud and terrific 
crashing from below, and then in an instant a stillness 
so ominous that it seemed fairly to take them by the 
throat and choke them. The castle had slipped from its 
moorings, detaching the crust of snow on which Peter 
and Pierre had been standing and sweeping them be- 
fore it down to what seemed must be certain death. 
The little party was transfixed with horror. The 
guides, ashen pale, stood paralyzed. Dr. Jones, mak- 
ing a desperate struggle against a sickening faintness, 
leaned heavily against a projecting rock in a vain effort 
to lend some aid to Hilaire who had fallen unconscious 
on the snow at his feet. Then the silence in which 
possibly lay their only safety was broken. 

“Oh, why don’t you do something?” Helen fairly 
screamed to the guides, in a voice so strange and stri- 
dent no one would have known it. 

Instantly she was almost smothered by Le Moyne’s 
hand clapped firmly over her mouth, so that she real- 


2o8 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


ized the fearful jeopardy in which that terrible scream 
had put them all. She stood transfixed a moment, her 
face buried in her hands, expecting to feel the earth 
give way beneath her, and then dropped in a limp lit- 
tle heap to the snow. At last, after several minutes 
that seemed hours to them all, Le Moyne signaled to 
the other guides that he deemed it safe to try to get 
the stricken little company back to the inn. Indeed, 
it was imperative that they should get back, the dark- 
ness was coming on so fast. Hilaire, with the first 
moment of returning consciousness, had opened her 
eyes to discern her guide bending over her with his 
hand pressed significantly to his lips, and she under- 
stood. No one, except Helen in the agony of her wild 
despair, had forgotten the need for silence for a single 
moment. Even now, when the guides indicated that 
the attempt was to be made to retrace their way, they 
scarcely dared to move. Jacques and Susette, more 
familiar with the conditions, were the first to regain 
confidence and, looking toward the others in an effort 
to encourage them, lead the way. Fortunately they 
had not so very far to go and soon were in sight of the 
inn. 

Once safely inside Hilaire sank with closed eyes into 
a chair, holding Helen in her arms. Dr. Jones, seated 
close to them, his own eyes closed in abject despair, 
held Helen’s extended hand clasped in his own. Su- 
sette lay prone upon a bench, her head buried on her 
arm. Jacques alone moved about, heaping on the wood 
in the fireplace and replenishing the stove in the ad- 


A DANGEROUS RIDE 


209 


joining room, about which the guides were standing 
conferring eagerly together, but in whispers, as though 
fearing to intrude any sound upon the heart-breaking 
sorrow to which the silence of the other room bore 
such pathetic witness. Then the whispering ceased, 
and the men, following Le Moyne, joined the others 
and sat down on one of the long benches lining the 
wall. Le Moyne noiselessly lifted a chair and, placing 
it beside Dr. Jones, slipped into it. 

“I must speak,” Jie said at last in a tone that 
showed how sacred he deemed the silence of their 
grief; “I must speak, because I must tell you we feel 
there is a little hope.” 

“Hope?” and every head was lifted that eyes might 
instantly meet Le Moyne’s. 

“Yes, a little hope,” he repeated, the tears standing 
in his own eyes as he looked into the tragic faces. 
“Do you remember how soon and how suddenly the 
silence came?” Yes, they had noticed that. “Well, 
that means some great barrier lay in the way of the 
avalanche, else we would have continued to hear that 
terrible roar till it died away far below us. The less 
distance it traveled the more chance that those on top 
may still be alive.” 

“Oh I I thought they were surely at the bottom of 
that terrible pit that came where they had stood,” 
Helen managed to say through teeth that chattered so 
as to make her words almost unintelligible. “That 
was the reason I wanted somebody to crawl to the edge 
and look down into it.” 


210 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


Le Moyne did not wonder now that Helen had lost 
her self-control when she saw no effort being made 
for rescue. “Oh, no, Miss Helen,” he said kindly, 
“the guides knew better than that. WeVe been com- 
paring notes and we all agree that they were on top as 
they disappeared. The ice-pack on which they were 
standing was just a lid over that terrible pit that in- 
stantly yawned where they had stood and the avalanche 
drove them ahead of it.” 

“But if they had not gone so very far and were 
still alive, wouldn’t their first thought have been to 
shout to let us know?” Hilaire asked eagerly. 

“Their first thought, perhaps,” said Le Moyne, “but 
not the second. They knew, provided they are still 
alive” — for hope must not be allowed to grow too 
keen while all was still so terribly uncertain — “they 
knew it would have been at the double risk of their lives 
and ours. We were safe enough, however, as Miss 
Helen’s scream proved.” 

“Oh I don’t speak of it, don’t speak of it,” and 
Helen wrung her hands at the thought cf what her 
carelessness might have cost. 

“Don’t blame yourself,” said Le Moyne. “You 
must have thought precious time was being lost. Be- 
sides, you got yourself right in hand when you re- 
membered the danger. That’s more than many women 
older than you would have done, and when we come 
across unexpected dangers up here in the snow the men 
are sometimes harder to manage than the women.” 

Helen slipped off from Hilaire’s lap and, leaning 


A DANGEROUS RIDE 


211 


against the arm of Le Moyne’s chair, laid her hand 
on his. Le Moyne understood. Words were of no 
use. She wanted him to feel heir gratitude for anything 
that made her offense seem In even the remotest degree 
excusable, and Le Moyne felt It down to his very finger- 
tips. He laid his great hand on hers in a way that 
told her he thought her just adorable, bringing thereby 
a grain of comfort to her overcharged heart, and re- 
lieving perceptibly for a moment the terrific tension. 
Most of us thankfully remember some such moment, 
when, strained to the breaking point, unexpected proof 
that some one cared and understood has saved the day. 

“Can nothing be done to-night?” but Dr. Jones knew 
it to be a perfectly hopeless question. 

“Impossible,” said two of the guides In one breath, 
from their seat against the wall. “With snow In this 
condition,” one of them went on to explain, “we need 
more far-reaching light than lanterns. It would be 
easy to start new masses of it rolling.” 

“There is just one thing for us to do. To get such 
sleep as we can to-night, and then we guides will be off 
with the first ray of light in the morning,” and Le 
Moyne, standing, stretched his arms heavily with a 
weariness he could not control. Dr. Jones looked ap- 
pealingly toward him, but Le Moyne shook his head. 
“No, Doctor, you can’t go with us. It will take old 
mountaineers to follow down the trail of that ava- 
lanche. We shall need Jacques’ help, but a green 
hand would only add to the responsibility.” And the 


212 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


doctor, with compressed lips, grimly accepted the situ- 
ation. 

Meanwhile Susette, coming to a realization of her 
duties, had heated a large pitcher of milk. Bringing 
it on a tray with some glasses she urged her guests to 
drink it, in the hope that it would help to induce sleep. 
Dutifully they did as they were bid, and then, too 
weary and unheeding even to undress, they laid them- 
selves down for their second night in the inn at the 
Grands Mulets. Was it possible that it was only eight- 
een hours since they had started off so gayly at three 
o’clock in the morning for the summit of Mont Blanc? 
Surely it was all a dreadful dream. A vision of a 
great snow castle shining with a light that never was 
on land or sea, and then vanishing in the twinkling of 
an eye, proved it was a dream. They never had started 
for Mont Blanc at all. They all must be safe in their 
own beds down at Chamonix, Peter and Pierre and all. 
They would wake to find that that was true, if they 
could only endure this dreadful nightmare until the 
morning. And so, half sleeping, half waking, the 
night wore on. 

The only real sleep for Helen came with the small 
hours, so the guides and Jacques were well on their 
way on their perilous quest before she wakened. When 
she opened her eyes they met those of Hilaire, who 
had lain perfectly still for a long while, hoping Helen 
would sleep on. 

“Have they gone, Hilaire?” 

Hilaire nodded. 


A DANGEROUS RIDE 


213 


A great sob shook Helen from head to foot. Oh, the 
agony of returning consciousness when one is waking 
to unrelieved anxiety! 

Over against the window of the other room they 
could see Dr. Jones, apparently asleep in a chair, his 
head resting against its back. He had not slept at all 
through the night. Tired of tossing from side to side 
of his narrow cot, he had evidently sought the chair 
for a change of position toward morning and dropped 
off; Helen saw that he looked very ghastly and with, 
“I must have a care for father,” sprang quickly out 
of bed. She carried the blanket from her own cot 
and laid it lightly across his knees without disturbing 
him. 

‘‘Yes, we must have a care for something if we are 
to stand it,” Hilaire’s heart echoed; and in a little 
while, refreshed by a morning toilet in the little wash- 
room, she and Helen hurried to join Susette in clearing 
away the guides’ breakfast and helping to make their 
own breakfast ready, all without click of dish or metal, 
because of Helen’s father, sleeping soundly at last 
from sheer exhaustion. 


CHAPTER FOURTEENTH 


“alive, that’s the wonder of it’* 


*‘Son immense Charite 
Dure a perpetuite/^ 

A re you alive, Pierre?’’ 

“Yes, I am, Peter.” 

“Are you hurt?” 

“Yes, a little, I think.” 

But each spoke with bated breath for fear of what 
might happen. 

Then perfect silence. After several seconds Peter 
ventured a louder whisper. 

“Can’t you sit up, Pierre?” 

“I think I could if I could turn over. If I had help 
I guess I could manage it. Isn’t it wonderful we’re 
alive, Peter?” 

“It’s a miracle! The impossible has happened.” 
“It was a terrible ride; how far down do you think 
we came?” 

“I haven’t the remotest idea. But I’m worried 
about you, Pierre,” feeling it safe by this time to speak 
a little louder. 


214 


“ALIVE, THAT’S THE WONDER OF IT” 215 

“You needn’t be. It just seems to be in my shoulder. 
There was a sharp piece of ice where I fell, but I’m 
getting the best of it.” And with a suppressed little 
squeal of pain, Pierre succeeded in getting into a sitting 
position. “Weren’t you thrown down, too?” 

“Flat as a door-mat, but I’m not hurt anywhere.” 

“Have you any idea what happened?” 

“We’ve taken a ride on an avalanche. That’s what’s 
happened; and we’re on the same piece of ice on 
which we started. I’m coming over to see what’s the 
matter with you.” 

“Better be pretty careful, Peter. Nothing at all 
seems to set things going up here.” 

But Peter needed no cautioning. He got upon his 
feet very slowly, as fearful as Pierre that any unex- 
pected jar might send them spinning on their down- 
ward way to the destruction they had so narrowly 
escaped. Then he picked his way with greatest care 
across the ice and took his place beside Pierre, with, 
“Let’s have a feel of your shoulder.” 

“Dislocated?” asked Pierre. 

“That’s what’s the matter.” 

“Can you put it back?” 

“Surely, but not yet. It may jar things when I 
do it. We’ll wait till we’re a little more familiar with 
this touring-car of ours. Besides it will hurt.” 

“You don’t mind being hurt when you expected to 
be killed.” 

“Do you know what is the most terrible part of this 
whole business, Pierre?” 


2i6 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


“Not knowing what has happened to the others?” 

“No, that’s not it. They’re all safe, I know for a 
certainty. All the rocks and stones went down to 
the left of us, and they were quite far on our right, you 
remember. The ice on which we were standing broke 
away from the main pack with an edge as clean as a 
knife, as you can see for yourself just beyond you there. 
The terrible part is, that all night they’ll think we’re 
dead. They can’t have any hope at all. I wanted 
to shout back the moment the old thing stopped, but 
it would have been a foolhardy thing to do. Besides, 
I am sure we have come a good ways down and they 
never could have heard. But there’s one good thing, 
‘Joy cometh in the morning for us all.’ ” 

“We’ll have to do something to keep from freezing 
to death,” Pierre said quietly. “There are things we 
can do, you know, if we can only move about.” 

“There are things we can do even if we have to 
keep pretty still. We can take good long breaths that 
are enough in themselves to keep the blood circulating.” 

“Have you the least idea how it all happened, 
Peter?” 

“Yes; I saw with my own eyes. Way up on that 
high place that seemed to form the tower of the pal- 
ace, I saw a little dark object begin rolling. It looked 
little enough, but it must have been a good sized boul- 
der. And then instantly, with no time for a word of 
warning, an avalanche of rocks and snow was on us 
and the ice under our feet gave way.” 

“But what has saved us, Peter? I haven’t lived in 


‘‘ALIVE, THAT’S THE WONDER OF IT” 217 

Chamonix all my life without knowing that avalanches 
do not stop till they get to the bottom.” 

“The thing that saved us, I Imagine, Is that we were 
probably near the top of a large, strong ice-pack. I 
don’t doubt the lower part of it Is all crumpled up 
where it met some obstruction. Perhaps we can see 
what happened In the morning, when we have a chance 
to Investigate.” 

“Don’t you suppose they will try to find us in the 
morning?” 

“With the first streak of dawn. But, listen,” said 
Peter suddenly. 

Holding their breaths for several seconds, they 
heard a faint cry repeated at intervals. 

“It’s some one far off calling for help, or some 
one near who doesn’t dare to risk calling any louder. 
That’s what I think it is, Peter.” 

“I think it is some one very near who is too weak to 
call any louder.” 

“You’d better answer, Peter.” 

Then the cry came again. 

“Hello,” called Peter softly. 

“Hello,” came the whispered answer, and they now 
felt sure that it came from some point very near. That 
some one else should have been in the track of the 
avalanche and have escaped with his life seemed a 
greater miracle still. 

“Raise your voice just a little so I can place you,” 
Peter called back. “It seems to be safe enough to 
speak a trifle louder.” 


2i8 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


“I am wedged In between two walls of ice,’’ came 
the answer, “and you seem to be up on top of one 
of them.” 

“Oh, Peter, it is the Cure I” Pierre cried as he rec- 
ognized the voice; then fearful of the outcome of the 
cry their hearts beat fast, but the deathlike stillness 
remained unbroken, and they were relieved to find that 
they were free to speak to each other in ordinary tones 
without incurring any danger. 

The Cure’s voice had guided Peter. Reaching the 
edge of the ice-pack, he stretched himself flat and 
peered over. 

“Man alive I” he exclaimed, aghast at what he saw. 

“Alive, that’s the wonder of it, but not for long 
unless you can contrive to get me out of this. Who 
have you with you?” but it was dlfiicult for the Cure 
to speak loud enough to be heard. 

“Only Pierre.” 

“No guides?” 

“Never a one, but we’ll manage somehow.” It was 
all Peter could do to keep his voice steady, the situa- 
tion looked so utterly hopeless. 

The ice-pack on which Peter and Pierre had been 
carried down formed one wall of a great crevasse. 
About twenty feet below the surface this wall came 
within a foot of a ledge, not more than two yards 
long and three feet wide, jutting out from the oppo- 
site wall. At either end of and below the ledge 
yawned a bottomless chasm. And on this narrow ledge 
the Cure was lying on his back. Meanwhile Pierre had 


‘‘ALIVE, THAT’S THE WONDER OF IT” 219 

succeeded in crawling to the edge of the pack. He 
looked over for one long second, and then drawing 
back buried his head on his arm with a little sob he 
could not suppress for the life of him. The Cure 
heard it. True to his instinct of comforting when 
comfort was needed, he pulled himself together and 
called out in a stronger voice than before : 

“Don’t lose heart, Pierre. It may keep me alive 
till the morning just to know you are near.” 

His words roused Peter from the hopelessness that 
had paralyzed him. He was still lying flat upon the 
ice, trying in the fast-gathering darkness to take in the 
exact dimensions of the ledge. “Would it be possible 
for you to change your position? You’d better not 
lie on your back there longer than you can help,” he 
said. 

“I don’t know; I have not dared to try to move. 
What do you think? You can tell better than I.” 

“Well, there’s a pretty big crack alongside of you. 
If you put out your hand you can touch the side of our 
ice-pack, which has walled you in, and measure the 
distance.” 

“Oh, that’s good,” said the Cure, doing as he was 
bid. “I had an idea it was much wider. Is it big 
enough to let me slip through?” 

“Hardly, though perhaps you might get wedged 
in it pretty uncomfortably; but you’d better risk a move 
right off so you can size up the sort of place you’re 
in before it gets any darker.” 

It was really a superhuman feat Peter was requiring 


220 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


from the Cure. Bruised from head to foot (for the 
fall that had landed him on the ledge had been from 
a height fifty feet above him and down the side of a 
jagged monolith of ice), he would have found move- 
ment difficult under any conditions, but to straighten 
up to a sitting position without slipping an inch seemed 
impossible. There was nothing for it but to try, how- 
ever, and, getting a leverage by pressing his left hand 
against the ledge underneath him and bracing his right 
hand against the side of the ice-pack, he finally 
achieved an upright position. 

“Well, that’s done,” he called up, but a groan es- 
caped him, for it was agony to move. They give anes- 
thetics for five minutes of less pain than seemed likely 
to rack the Cure for hours. 

Peter, who had felt privileged to look away since 
looking on would not help matters, heard the words 
with joy. 

“That’s a great feat,” he called down. “I know 
how it hurt. Now you take a rest for a few minutes, 
while some one else stands a bit of hurting. Pierre’s 
shoulder has gotten jerked out of place and he won’t 
have a minute’s peace until I jerk it back again. You 
are likely to hear a good squeal.” 

Pierre clinched his teeth as Peter took him in hand, 
but it did hurt and the squeal would out. Hearing it, 
the Cure smiled. It sounded so blessedly human. It 
was such a little while since he had expected to freeze 
to death alone in his icy prison. Now everything 
was changed, and without having an idea how it was 


‘^ALIVE, THAT’S THE WONDER OF IT” 221 


to be accomplished, he felt that they were going to save 
him somehow or other. Peter had made him feel 
like that. He had given many another the courage 
needed to face a crisis, and he did it now. That the 
crisis was not exactly in his line' did not signify. The 
Cure had put his trust in him, and nothing makes any 
one so resourceful as being trusted. Besides Pierre, 
now that he was relieved of his pain, was beginning 
to do a little planning on his own account. At that 
moment Peter made a discovery. His hand unexpect- 
edly closed over a flask of brandy in the pocket of his 
jacket, and he produced it, beaming. 

“I took it out when we reached the inn, but put it 
back again, I remember now, when we started off for 
that dreadful castle,” he said. “It will save the Cure’s 
life and perhaps ours as well. How can we get it down 
to him?” 

For answer Pierre crossed to the outer edge of the 
ice-pack that was piled high with debris of sticks and 
stones and uprooted pine trees, and brought back a 
long branch. 

“You make a crotch of the end of it,” he explained. 
Peter had bound Pierre’s left arm firmly to his side, 
so he had only one hand at his service. 

“But what if he spills it, Pierre? Fingers that are 
half frozen are mighty uncertain; we must let it down 
a little at a time, somehow. Look here, we’ll wedge 
the screw-top of the flask firmly in the notch, instead 
of the flask. It’s hollow and will hold enough.” It was 
the work of a second to get the little contrivance into 


222 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


working order, and of another to reach it down over 
the edge of the ice-pack. They found it was not neces- 
sary for the Cure even to try to touch it. Peter was 
able to bring the cup directly against his lips, and then 
to turn the stick at an angle so as to empty it. 

“My, but that’s a God-send,” and the Cure drew a 
deep breath that showed the instant relief it brought 
him. “Will you be able to spare me a little more later 
on, perhaps?” 

“You will only have to say when. There’s enough 
of it to save the day for all of us, if we use it wisely.” 

“Why not say the lives?” said the Cure, speaking 
for the first time without chattering teeth. “It amounts 
to that for me, anyway.” 

“And now,” Peter said eagerly, “that you are better 
able to talk a little, tell us whatever you were doing 
up here, anyhow?” 

“I was coming up to spend the night with you all 
at the inn, when the avalanche sent me over that ledge 
above me.” 

Peter and Pierre looked up and it all seemed more 
a miracle than ever. 

“And what happened to you? Are the rest safe 
somewhere?” 

“Yes, all safe. We were out together on the ice but 
only Pierre and I were in the track of the avalanche. 
And now all there is for us fellows to do is to put 
up a fight to keep alive till the morning.” 

“I thought perhaps ” 

“No, old fellow,” and the words stuck in Peter’s 


“ALIVE, THAT’S THE WONDER OF IT” 223 

throat, “we can’t get you out till the guides lend a 
hand. They’ll surely find us. I wonder if it would be 
possible, before it grows any darker, for you to try 
standing up awhile. If you could manage to get up 
and down through the night, it would do a lot toward 
keeping your blood circulating. Pierre has drawn out 
this pine tree from the edge of the ice-pack. See,” and 
Peter held it aloft over the crevasse. “Now he and 
I can hold on to its roots lying up here and reaching 
over, and if you will just steady yourself by holding 
it with one hand, trying not to put your whole weight 
upon it for fear of its breaking, it will help you to get 
on to your feet. The more I look at the crack beside 
you, the more I’m sure that it wouldn’t let you through 
even if you did slip. Will you try?” 

“Just as you say,” and the Cure tried and succeeded, 
and found it an immense relief. By pressing his hand 
against the wall of ice in front of him he could move 
his feet and legs up and down in a way that took some 
of the numbness out of them. 

“What next. Captain?” asked the Cure. 

“Well, it’s got to be something next, all through the 
night. That will have to be the program.” 

“No sleep for anybody, Peter?” Pierre asked 
wearily. 

“You know better than I, Pierre. What do people 
do who get caught out in the open?” 

“I know it’s very dangerous to go sound asleep, but 
I should think two of us might let ourselves go, if 


224 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

the other one promised to punch ns awake again in a 
few minutes.’’ 

All conversation was carried on over the edge of the 
ice-pack so that the Cure might hear what was being 
planned. 

“You mustn’t be surprised at anything I do,” he 
called up when everything had been arranged. “I’m 
not going to consider anybody but myself. Just at this 
moment I feel so thankful you are up there above me 
and that I’m going to live on at least a while longer 
that I am going to sing at the top of my voice.” 

The top of the Cure’s voice was not very formidable, 
for, along with all the rest of him, it was pretty far 
spent. He laughed at it himself, as it broke now and 
again in most ridiculous fashion. He sang a song of 
parted lovers, with a refrain at the end of each verse. 
Hardly what you would expect from an old priest, 
perhaps, but an old priest does not have to put every 
blessedly human thing out of his life because he has 
consecrated it to the lives of others. One thing is 
certain, the song came straight from the Cure’s heart; 
another, that it went just as straight to Peter’s. 

The song was followed by a single verse of the 
hymn ending with the lines: 

“Son immense Charite 
Dure a perpetuite.” 

He sung it twice over. The third time he came to 
an end with a groan before the last lines were reached. 


“ALIVE, THAT’S THE WONDER OF IT” 225 

“I hope you don’t mind, as Pierre says,” sighed the 
Cure. “There’ll be a lot more of them before the 
night is over; when a new twinge gets me the groan 
seems to let out a little of the pain.” 

“Groan away, old Great Heart. It will help to keep 
you awake, and when you feel you can’t stand it all 
much longer it will be time to reach another cupful 
down to you. And you must not go to sleep for a sec- 
ond, because, you see, we can’t get at you to shake 
you awake again. You’ll freeze to death if you do; 
you know that, don’t you?” 

“Oh, yes, I know,” but the words seemed to voice 
a hopeless despair. 

“It’s going to be like that all night,” Peter whis- 
pered to Pierre, “whenever a wave of fatigue sweeps 
over him ; we mustn’t let him be quiet more than two or 
three minutes at a time. We must speak and he must 
answer in some way at pretty regular intervals, except 
when he takes it into his head to groan or sing on his 
own account. But you and I can take our turns at 
cat-naps.” 

“Yes, I understand,” Pierre said wearily. “It’s 
going to be pretty dark, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, rather, but those clouds overhead will scud 
down to the west, I think, and then, thank God, we’ll 
have a clear starlight night of it.” 

And it turned out that the clouds did scud down to 
the west and the stars gave them light enough all 
through the night to discern the Cure clearly on his 
icy shelf, and to move about on the ice-pack. 


226 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


In the minutes of quiet they could hear the drip of 
icy water here and there, or the cracking of the ice, 
and ever and again the booming of some far-away 
avalanche. That it would only keep far away was 
their constant prayer — for they did, indeed, lift up 
many an earnest prayer during that long, dark night. 
Pierre and the Cure with the stars for a rosary, while 
Protestant Peter sent up his petition in the earnest 
words of his own heart — as to a dear and familiar 
friend. 

And so the night wore on slowly, freezingly, but 
surely, Pierre and Peter taking turns in moving about, 
in looking after the Cure and in sleeping for as many 
minutes as the one on watch considered safe. But 
just before dawn their hearts grew heavy with a new 
anxiety. All through the night, encouraged by either 
Peter or Pierre, the Cure had kept up his fight, slowly 
struggling to his feet, and then slipping down again 
to a sitting position when he could stand no longer. 
He had taken great deep breaths so as to get all the 
oxygen possible into his blood to avert its freezing and 
to lessen the danger of pneumonia following in the 
wake of such exposure. But chill had followed chill, 
and there came a moment when the body was no longer 
able to respond to the bidding of the will. Though he 
was still in a sitting position, the most urgent word 
of Peter or Pierre failed to bring any response. Then 
unconsciousness mercifully slipped in. 

“He’s done for,” groaned Pierre, when they had 
at last to abandon all hope of rousing him, “and I am 


‘‘ALIVE, THAT’S THE WONDER OF IT” 227 


too, almost, Peter.” And he threw himself down 
heavily upon a sort of mat of branches that they had 
constructed for use during the night. Peter did not 
dare tell Pierre how over-powering was his own temp- 
tation to. give up all further effort. But he pulled 
himself together. 

“It seems to me there’s just a suggestion of day- 
light over yonder. The minute it’s really here we 
must begin to take turns at the horn. It will give the 
guides the right direction from the start, perhaps, and 
save their losing time. It was a great thing that the 
Cure had it with him and that we thought to get it into 
our keeping while he still had strength to fasten it to 
the branch. Is there any special call for help when 
you’re in a fix like this?” 

“Yes, there is,” Pierre answered drowsily. The 
question had succeeded in rousing Pierre from an 
apathy that had frightened Peter. 

“Let me hear it,” and Peter, unfolding Pierre’s 
stiffened fingers, clasped them around the horn. 

“Now, blow, Pierre! If help only comes early 
enough we may save the Cure yet.” 

“Oh, may we?” and the undreamed of hope roused 
Pierre as nothing else could. “Isn’t he surely dead, 
Peter?” 

“There’s no telling. Why not hope as long as ever 
we can? Now, blow! Or better, you tell me and I’ll 
try my hand.” 

“It’s six calls a minute for two minutes, then pause 
a minute and repeat.” 


228 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


“We’ll have to guess at the minutes until it’s light 
enough for your young eyes to see my watch.” 

“There’s enough now for me,” for even while they 
had been speaking the dawn, which had first only made 
itself felt, had already begun to shed a dim light around 
them. 

The next moment the first note of the horn rang 
out. One note followed the other at intervals of ten 
seconds, then the minute pause. For one long hour the 
horn was passed from Peter to Pierre, until, weak 
from hunger and exhaustion, they felt wholly unequal 
to the effort. Yet they knew the importance of keep- 
ing at it. Just then, as so often happens when one is 
in extremis, they heard an answer, far, far away and 
very faint — six calls to the minute and then a pause; 
definitely an answer. Then hope gave place to cer- 
tainty and strength surged back, and the call for help 
rang out more loudly and clearly than before, while 
each time the answer came back more clearly, until 
they knew the rescuing party must be right upon them. 
The next moment there was the sound of ice cracking 
under the heavy crampons, and the guides stood before 
them, having pulled themselves with difficulty up the 
side of the ice-pack. 

Pierre staggered into the extended arms of one of 
them, while Peter grasped Le Moyne’s hands with a 
grip that showed he had some strength left. 

“Were the rest of you all safe?” he asked between 
chattering teeth, and with so deep a sigh of sheer 
relief that the words were barely intelligible. 


‘‘ALIVE, THAT’S THE WONDER OF IT” 229 

“Safe enough as to bodies. As good as killed as to 
hearts — all of us. But we guides thought there was 
just a chance this block of ice might stay right side 
up, and you on it.” 

Peter, however, knew it was no time for words. 

“There are more than two of us,” he said. “See 
who weVe got here,” and he drew Le Moyne to the 
edge of the ice-pack. 

“My God, the Cure!” Le Moyne gasped in a hoarse 
whisper that brought the other guides instantly to his 
side. The men stood aghast with surprise and an- 
guish, for in all the valley no one was more loved than 
the Cure. There was not one of them who would not 
have laid down his life for him. 

“Is he dead, doctor?” was their breathless whisper. 

“There’s no telling till you get him up, but I guess 
you’ll have to look after me first,” answered Peter. 
And one of the guides caught him as he reeled back- 
ward from the edge of the crevasse in a faint that 
seemed far too much akin to the lifelessness that 
wrapped the Cure. 

It was the work of an instant to get the flask with 
which they had come provided to Peter’s colorless lips 
and to pour the brandy down his throat. There was 
an immediate response in a quivering of the eyelids and 
a long-drawn breath, but for a few moments they all 
watched him closely as he lay upon the ice with his 
shoulders and head resting on Le Moyne’s knee. 

“He’s coming round all right, boys,” whispered Le 
Moyne. “Now let’s make him comfortable in the 


230 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

blankets. Bring Pierre over here beside him; we’ll 
tuck them in together and whichever gets warm first 
will warm the other.” 

Pierre, who had also dropped to the ice with ex- 
haustion, almost oblivious to what was going on around 
him, was lifted like a baby and laid close to Peter, 
while a good stiff draught of brandy was poured be- 
tween his tightly clenched teeth. Two of the blankets 
with which the guides had come provided were saved 
for the Cure, and a third was made a pillow for Peter 
and Pierre. Peter was already breathing with a regu- 
larity that meant that natural sleep was getting in 
some good work, and Pierre dropped off the next min- 
ute. It would not do to let them sleep long, but it 
would be safe enough for the time it would take to 
get the Cure up to the top of the ice. It was not going 
to be easy, however, to secure the ropes around that 
apparently lifeless body — a hazardous task for which- 
ever one should attempt it. But the guides crowded 
eagerly about Le Moyne in a desire to be chosen. A 
man named Gaspard, who had the reputation for being 
able to keep a foothold in simply impossible places, 
was the one selected for the work of rescue. The fact 
that the Cure had lapsed into unconsciousness while in 
a sitting position was an advantage, as it left a little 
more standing room on the icy shelf. 

With ropes fastened firmly about him, Gaspard was 
lowered. After driving a pick-axe deep into the ice 
wall by way of precaution, he quickly and deftly 
knotted one rope about the Cure’s waist and another 


“ALIVE, THAT’S THE WONDER OF IT” 231 

under his arms; but it was heavy-hearted work for 
he was confident all was over. Then he signaled to 
those above him, and the ropes were pulled taut by 
skillful hands, so that the apparently lifeless body 
swung into the air in an upright position. As it swayed 
in the narrow crevasse it struck heavily against Gas- 
pard and, but for a literal clutch for life at the pro- 
jecting pick-axe, nothing could have saved him from 
being plunged to certain death down the deep cre- 
vasse. Drawn up to safety a moment later, he proba- 
bly never gave his danger a second thought. A miss 
is as good as a mile with men who for any reason have 
to take great risks. But whether the Cure was alive 
or dead the guides could not determine as they leaned 
over the stiffened body, chafing the frozen hands. 

“Wake him I He’ll know.” Le Moyne nodded 
toward Peter. 

It was not easy to wake a man so exhausted. He 
moved impatiently as they tried to rouse him, but with 
the words, “We need you for the Cure,” he instantly 
made every possible effort and struggled to his feet 
with the aid of a guide. It was just as difficult to 
bring his lame and aching body to the level of the 
Cure’s, lying outstretched on a blanket; but once in the 
right position his trained ear detected a slight flutter 
of the heart. 

“He’s alive,” was his joyful verdict, as they helped 
him to his feet again. “Get to work, boys. I’ll tell 
you what to do; and give me something to eat quick.” 

“And me, too,” called Pierre, who, wakened by the 


232 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

efforts to rouse Peter, lay with glad, wide-open eyes 
in his blanket — glad because he had heard Peter’s 
words about the Cure. 

It is wonderful what it means “to lose yourself” 
for even a brief ten minutes. Both Peter and Pierre 
were wonderfully revived and munched the biscuits 
and drank the water from the canteen as though they 
had been starving for days instead of hours. 

The brandy forced down the Cure’s throat, together 
with a series of scientific manipulations directed by 
Peter as he ate, finally sent the blood coursing once 
more through the frozen veins, but he still lay oblivi- 
ous to everything about him. Perhaps that was just 
as well, for, with nerves and bones aching, the journey 
to the Grands Mulets, a quarter of a mile higher up, 
would have meant agony had he been conscious. As it 
was, many a groan escaped him when they once got 
under way, as the guides, with frequent halts, tried to 
make headway up the almost perpendicular trail of the 
avalanche, lifting and shoving and hauling the dead 
weight of his body from one insecure foothold to an- 
other. Hearts less staunch than theirs, and sinews less 
powerful, would have deemed the task impossible. It 
would have been easy enough to construct some sort of 
stretcher from the pole-like trunks of the little pine 
trees lying uprooted on every side, with a blanket 
swung between them, but on a mountainside so steep 
and all but impassable with a mass of debris, there 
was nothing to do but pull, push and lift from one 
point of vantage to another. One of the guides brought 


‘‘ALIVE, THAT’S THE WONDER OF IT” 233 


up the rear to lend a hand now and again to Peter 
or Pierre, as they seemed to need it, for they were a 
pretty worn-out pair when it came to actual climbing. 
Peter was careful to keep as close an eye as possible 
on the Cure every step of the toilsome way. But at 
last the interminable quarter of a mile was covered 
and the roof of the inn lifted itself against the heav- 
enly blue, as welcome a sight as ever met eyes that had 
looked upon what seemed like certain death only a 
few hours before. 


CHAPTER FIFTEENTH 


IN ANY CASE TRY TO SIGNAL 


n 


Blow, bugle, blow! set the wild echoes dying. 
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying. 


— Tennyson. 


HEN the guides had first come upon Peter and 



vv Pierre one of them had instantly let himself 
down the side of the ledge up which they had just 
climbed. Back he made his difficult way for a quarter 
of a mile, straight up in the air to a knife-like ridge of 
ice that jutted far out from the side of the mountain. 
Once at its outermost point, he carefully noticed the 
direction of the wind, which, happily, was from the 
desired quarter. Then, commencing softly so as to 
run as little risk as possible from reverberation, he 
blew one long blast upon his horn, increasing in volume 
as he felt more sure of the firmness of the snow; then 
he waited a minute and blew another; waited two min- 
utes and blew once more. After a pause of five min- 
utes he did the same thing all over again. From that 
outstanding spur of ice, with the wind in his favor, he 
thought they ought to be able to hear up at the Grands 
Mulets, but he could not be sure. Though with hand 


234 


‘IN ANY CASE TRY TO SIGNAL” 235 

to his ear he had concentrated every faculty on lis- 
tening he had heard no answer. But he had not really 
expected that he would. The wind was in their favor, 
not his. Then he had crept back along the narrow 
ridge and leaped down the steep wall of rock and ice 
at a really dangerous pace in his eagerness to rejoin the 
others and find how it really fared with Peter and 
Pierre. Up at the Grands Mulets they had heard, 
or rather thought they had heard. A quarter of 
an hour after the guides had set out on what they 
feared would prove only a hopeless quest, so small did 
they deem the chances to be of finding Peter and 
Pierre alive, Jacques Balmat had gone “on watch” 
with even less hope in his own heart as to the out- 
come. But in any case the searching party were to 
try to signal back if they found them at any point 
from which there was a possibility of the signal being 
heard. 

“Promise to try whether you think there’s a possi- 
bility or not,” Hilaire had urged as they said fare- 
well to the guides at daybreak, and they had faithfully 
promised. 

Buttoned up to the ears in his great sheep-skin coat, 
Balmat paced back and forth on a little plateau of 
firm, hard snow, some hundred feet below the inn. 
He knew that a sound which had not sufficient carry- 
ing power to reach the house itself might probably be 
heard at this vantage point. That no one would be 
permitted to relieve his watch was understood from 
the first, for he would trust no ear less practiced 


236 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

than his own. But he did not have to wait very long 
for the signal. His heart stood still as he listened. 
He must make no mistake. Up at the inn they heard 
it, too, but not distinctly enough to be quite sure about 
it, so slipping and sliding down they all came to the 
ledge in a heartbreak of anxiety to learn the signal’s 
meaning. But Helen’s keen eyes read Balmat’s face 
from afar. 

“They’re found and they’re alive, I know it, I 
know it,” she cried, and the moment they were within 
speaking distance Balmat confirmed the wonderful 
news, whereupon Helen threw her arms about Hilaire 
and began to whirl her around in a dance, that on the 
slippery ice threatened a fall any minute. But joyous 
as the news was, there could have been no dance at 
that stage for older heads. 

“Why are you so sober, Jacques?” asked Hilaire as 
she walked beside him for a moment on the way back 
to the inn. 

“Sober, am I?” giving himself an impatient sort 
of shake. “I ought to be ashamed of myself. But, 
you see, I’m not ready to dance quite yet. There’s 
a fearful lot of exposure about a night like that. Don’t 
say anything to Miss Helen. We’d better hope every- 
thing is all right.” 

“Yes, of course we had,” Hilaire replied, but the 
suggestion had sobered her. 

Meanwhile Helen, with a great red spot of excite- 
ment on either cheek, was continuing to spend a great 


‘IN ANY CASE TRY TO SIGNAU’ 237 


deal of jubilant energy in helping get things ready in 
the inn for the expected party. 

“You’d better quiet down a bit,” Hilaire advised 
after a time. 

“Why? Why, I’d like to know? When we’ve just 
heard the very most glorious news possible !” 

“But we don’t know how used up they may be,” 
for Hilaire thought Helen really ought to be a little 
prepared. But Helen would none of it. 

“Why, the more used up they are, the more care we 
can take of them,” and Helen continued to do every- 
thing with unnecessary, exhausting energy. 

Of course there was no telling how soon to look 
for them. The signal might have come from almost 
any distance, but they were confident as to its direc- 
tion. As soon as they had eaten a hasty breakfast, 
for the great news had come just as they were sit- 
ting down to it. Dr. Jones and Balmat hurried to the 
ice-ledge, Jacques with a field glass with which to cover 
all the possible ways of approach. Equipped and 
ready for climbing, they planned to go to meet them 
the instant they made sure by what route they were 
coming. About an hour from the time of the first 
signal they heard the horn again, but it sounded only 
a little nearer. 

“They are making slow work of it, Balmat?” 

“Yes, doctor. Like as not they’ve both got to be 
carried. They’d have sent word up ahead if they 
hadn’t needed every man of them.” 


238 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“You guides have a great way of thinking all round 
things,” Dr. Jones said admiringly. 

“We have to. We have to be just as alert as you 
doctors if we’re going to save our own necks and 
others’.” 

“What’s that?” and the doctor pressed the glass 
into Balmat’s hands. 

“That’s the flash of an ax. They must be in a 
trap where they’ve got to cut a foothold,” and pitching 
the glass on to some soft snow a few feet away, Bal- 
mat reached for his own ax and was off down the 
mountain, with Dr. Jones close at his heels. 

Up at the Inn they knew what the disappearance of 
the two men meant. Scurrying into coats and wraps, 
for a keen wind was blowing, all hands went as far 
as they could In the direction in which they had van- 
ished. Then In a little while they heard the sound 
of Ice cracking under the tread of many feet. Run- 
ning no little risk In her eagerness, Helen was instantly 
out on a projecting Ice cone and then as Instantly beat 
a retreat, her two hands covering her eyes. She had 
seen an apparently lifeless form being pulled and 
pushed up a steep ledge some fifty feet below her. 
She was sure It was Peter. Oh I how cruel of them to 
have sent that joyful signal I She sank down on the 
snow at the foot of the ice cone unable to take an- 
other step. Wondering what she could have seen, the 
others had no choice but to wait where they were sure 
of their footing till they could see for themselves. A 
few more minutes of breathless suspense, then turn- 



^‘^OH ! HOW CRUEL OF THEM TO HAVE SENT THAT JOYFUL SIGNAL !” — Page 238 



“IN ANY CASE TRY TO SIGNAL’’ 239 

ing a sharp angle below them the whole relief party 
came fully into sight. 

Hilaire took one long look and then flew to Helen. 

“It isn’t Peter, Helen, it isn’t Peter. I don’t know 
who it is, but it isn’t Peter.” 

Helen made no answer. She did not believe a word 
Hilaire said. Had she not seen with her own eyes? 
Oh, what a world it was, where people were made 
so glad and so sad in such quick succession! 

But now the men with their burden are within speak- 
ing distance and, just behind, each leaning heavily on 
a supporting guide, come Peter and Pierre. All 
Helen’s strength surges back in a moment. 

“Oh — hel — lo!” she calls out, dwelling on each syl- 
lable with such love and exultation in her tone that 
every heart thrills with the ring of it. 

“Hello I Hello 1 ” Peter and Pierre call faintly back 
in answer, their faces lighted with the joy of being 
almost at the end of their fearful climb. But their 
voices betray their extreme exhaustion. Instantly 
Helen is with Peter, on the side away from the guide, 
and drawing his arm about her shoulders joyfully feels 
that she is bearing a little of his weight; and Hilaire, 
following her example, lends the same aid to Pierre. 
That both are too tired to talk is perfectly evident, but 
one question can not wait. 

“Who is the man ahead, Peter?” asks Helen. 

“It is— the Cure.” 

“Oh, no! Is he dead, Peter?” 

“Not quite dead,” 


240 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“Will he live, I wonder?” 

“I wonder, too. Your father knows what to do. 
ril help as soon as I can pull myself together.” 

“Now don’t say another word, Peter, not another 
word for hours.” 

A few more steps and they were over the threshold 
of the inn. Peter and Pierre, dropping heavily on to 
the cots made ready for them, would have fallen asleep 
at once had they only been let alone, but that was 
not to be thought of. The guides pulled away at them 
until their clothing had all been removed, and then, 
after a rub-down with alcohol, very welcome to their 
aching limbs, they were rolled up in blankets and put 
to bed. Some hot milk was fed to them and then, 
with their faces turned to the wall, away from the light, 
sleep was at last allowed a chance to do what nothing 
else could do for them. 

Meanwhile Hilaire and Helen had gone hither and 
yon at the bidding of Dr. Jones, who with Jacques and 
his wife to help him was working over the Cure in 
the other room. There was no sign of returning con- 
sciousness but there were other signs that seemed to 
cheer his doctor heart. When everything had been 
attended to, all hands gathered around the fire and 
in hushed whispers talked over the exciting details of 
the rescue. There was little need, however, for low- 
ered voices. No ordinary sounds could by any possi- 
bility disturb either Peter or Pierre. Indeed, if the 
truth be told, Peter and Pierre and two or three of 
the more exhausted guides, who were also asleep on 


‘IN ANY CASE TRY TO SIGNAL” 241 

cots in a corner of the room, were responsible for 
some rather disturbing sounds of their own. At last 
the little party around the fire broke up, though with 
a hundred questions yet to be asked and answered at 
some later date. It was faring on toward noon by 
this time and there was much to do to prepare such 
a dinner as those hard-working guides deserved. 

Late in the afternoon Peter and Pierre stirred a lit- 
tle and, gradually opening their eyes, were thankful 
enough to realize they were back in their beds at the 
inn. But not a word were they allowed to say by Dr. 
Jones, who was on guard. The blankets were un- 
tucked just enough to free an arm, so that they could 
hold a cup and drink some warm concoction brought 
at the doctor’s orders by Susette. Then in briefest 
space they were off to sleep again, exactly as the doc- 
tor intended, to know no waking until the morning. 
Early in the afternoon the porters and one or two 
guides were started back to Chamonix for supplies, 
bearing messages to one and another in the valley, and 
a written order to the Hotel des Alpes for Peter’s 
case. They also carried a note to the Chef-guide 
telling him that no parties expecting to lodge at the 
inn must be allowed to commence the ascent. The 
word of the Cure’s sad plight ran quickly through 
the village and set many a heart to aching. 

Up at the inn everyone had turned in, hours before 
dark, for everyone was mortally tired. Dr. Jones with 
the Cure on his mind kept waking frequently, but for all 
the rest never was sleep sounder or more sorely needed. 


CHAPTER SIXTEENTH 


“till the cur£ comes to” 

“And every truth and rule ye taught 
Into your daily life was wrought” 


H OW long do you suppose he’s going to stay like 
this, Peter?” 

“I wish I knew.” 

“But you do think he’s coming out of it sometime?” 
“I do, indeed, Pierre, perhaps any moment. But 
there’s something in my case that will help him to 
come out if he doesn’t do it of his own accord. They 
ought to be here with it before long now.” 

“He’s very fine-looking. Don’t you think so, Peter?” 
“Very. One of the finest faces I have ever seen.” 
“I like yours a little better, Peter.” 

“Impossi — ble, as you French people say.” 

“It’s your forehead I like better. I like it because 
it looks, somehow, as though you were thinking all 
the time about fine things. Helen says it’s the kind 
an English poet calls a noble brow.” 

“English poets are crazy, Pierre, every mother’s 
son of ’em; and Helen should know better. I think, 
myself, a noble brow is a terrible thing to have.” 


242 


‘TILL THE CURE COMES TO” 243 

“Please don’t joke so much, Peter. It’s the only 
thing I don’t like about you. When anyone is in ear- 
nest you ought to try to be in earnest too. I hope 
you won’t mind, but I’d like to ask you why do you?” 

“Why? Well, let me think,” and, leaning his el- 
bows on his knees, Peter rested his chin between his 
hands and plunged into serious thought. He was not 
fooling now. He was going to try to answer Pierre’s 
question. They were sitting in one of the smaller 
rooms beside the cot where the Cure lay, his hand- 
some profile outlined in ghastly whiteness against the 
gray of the rough-plastered wall. Peter sat in a 
wooden chair near the head of the cot and Pierre was 
curled up on the floor at his feet. Every little while 
Peter would put his linger on the Cure’s pulse but, as 
it was behaving even better than could be expected, 
that did not interfere with the conversation. These 
three were now the only guests at the inn, for Peter 
had insisted that all the rest of the party should set 
off early that morning for Chamonix, where their re- 
turn was so anxiously awaited. Pierre had been per- 
mitted to stay behind. 

“Just till the Cure comes to,” he had pleaded with 
Peter. 

“Just till to-morrow morning, whether he comes to 
or not,” Peter had answered, for he was determined 
that those patient old people, the Saintons, were not 
to be kept anxiously awaiting his home-coming a mo- 
ment longer than that. 

Meantime Peter had been conscientiously thinking. 


244 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“Look here, Pierre,” he began after a minute, “as 
I understand it, the accusation is not that I joke too 
much exactly, because you love fun as much as I do, 
but that I joke when I should be earnest.” Pierre 
nodded. “Well, now, I shouldn’t wonder if you’d 
been thinking, too. You were to find me out, that 
was the contract; I was not to tell you things.” 

“Oh, yes, I’ve been thinking,” Pierre said signifi- 
cantly. 

“So I judged from a certain knitting of — of your 
noble brow; how do you like it?” 

Pierre scowled. Here was Peter at his old tricks 
the very moment they were trying to discover why 
he should get the better of them. 

“Well, it seems to me, Peter,” he said solemnly, 
“perhaps there are two reasons. You see I have 
been studying you often when you have not known it.” 

*^Au contraire, my friend, I have often winced under 
your close scrutiny, but I have scorned to show it. I 
had made the dare and must take the consequences. 
Well, what are the reasons?” 

“I think you joke part of the time because you 
don’t like to have people know how much you feel 
things, and so it has come to be a habit.” 

“Second?” and Peter looked at Pierre with a won- 
dering affection in his eyes. 

“I think, perhaps, because it must be so very hard 
to tell people they have got to have dreadful opera- 
tions, that you have to fool a good deal to keep cheer- 
ful.” 


‘TILL THE CURE COMES TO” 245 

“Pierre Arnaud, how did you ever get such an awful 
old head on such young shoulders?” 

“I haven’t an awful old head at all,” rather resent- 
fully. “I think I understand because I’m so fond of 
you.” 

“Not so fond as I of you.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because you have to be years and years old to know 
how to care so much. But now that you’ve found the 
reasons — for found them you have — they’re good ones, 
aren’t they?” 

“Yes, but it’s a bad habit.” 

“What do you think I’d better do about it?” 

“Get rid of it.” 

“How?” 

“I should think you’d say to yourself, ‘I’m not 
ashamed of feeling things and, if people see, they’ll 
have to.’ And then I’d say, ‘I never will be so mean 
again as to joke when other people are in earnest.’ ” 

“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, Pierre.” 

“If you love the dog enough you can.” 

Peter, with folded arms, sat looking down at Pierre 
in a way that made him get up and go around behind 
Peter’s chair to give him a hug. Then he went back 
and curled up in the old place, leaning comfortably 
against the Cure’s cot as before. 

“Let’s go on talking, Peter. It isn’t often we have 
a chance like this.” 

“I don’t believe we want another like this, do we? 


246 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

Wouldn’t it be fine to have the Cure break right in and 
interrupt us?” 

“Oh, Peter, look!” in an awe-struck whisper. “His 
lips are moving,” and Peter and Pierre, bending low, 
heard the words, “O Holy Angel.” 

“ ‘O Holy Angel,’ ” Pierre repeated softly, “ ‘to 
whose care God in His mercy hath committed me, I 
return thee now my most serious and humble thanks.’ 
That’s what he’s thinking, Peter. It’s the prayer we 
say to our guardian angel. Do you Protestants pray, 
Peter?” 

“You rank little heathen, of course we do.” 

“But you don’t have any regular prayers?” 

“No, not exactly like yours, but we have a lot of 
irregular ones.” 

“Are you joking now, Peter?” 

“Bless your heart, no. I only mean we do not 
feel the need of a rosary night and morning to tell 
off our prayers, because we believe in lifting our hearts 
right up to God in our own words.” 

“I should say your own words were not good 
enough.” 

“I should say that any silent prayer right from the 
heart was good enough to go straight up to God. In- 
deed, I know there are no words for some of them.” 

“The Cure doesn’t think that.” 

“Oh, yes, I think he does, in a way.” 

“Prayers are queer anyway, aren’t they, Peter? You 
can never surely tell whether they change things or 


‘TILL THE CURE COMES TO’’ 247 


“You can always tell whether they change you or 
not. They can make you so brave and patient you’re 
a surprise to yourself. They can give you courage 
to bear the things that cannot be changed. Paul had 
something like that to meet. He called it a thorn in 
the flesh.” 

“But it didn’t keep him from being a saint, Peter?” 

“My gracious, no; it helped him because he never 
gave in to it. Just fought it all his life. It made a 
soldier-saint of him. Rather a fine kind. I have an 
idea the Cure here is that kind, too. Come look at 
him. See this line here on each side of his face and 
then his lips pressed so firmly together, just as they 
are so much of the time when he is himself. That 
means he is keeping up a fight. I imagine it’s a strug- 
gle with some haunting disappointment. There’s a 
look in his eyes like that sometimes.” 

“Like what?” It was the Cure who spoke, and with 
the words his eyes slowly opened and then closed again 
with utter weariness. 

“I know what you mean, Peter.” 

But Peter put his finger to his lip as a signal to 
Pierre to be quiet. If the Cure was regaining con- 
sciousness he must be led back in just the right way, 
and Peter shifted his chair so as to bring his face close 
to the Cure’s, and took his hand in his own. Pres- 
ently he felt a tightening pressure and again the Cure’s 
eyes opened. 

“Where am I?” he asked in the feeblest voice. 

“You tell him,” Peter motioned to Pierre. 


248 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“You are safe in your own bed at the inn at the 
Grands Mulets,” bending joyfully over him. 

“Pierre!” said the Cure, recognizing him, and his 
eyes closed. Then they kept perfectly still until he 
opened them again. “And Dr. Alwyn!” he said with 
a great deep sigh of satisfaction, as though nothing 
more could possibly be desired. 

At this moment one of the guides returned from 
Chamonix came in at the door, holding out the coveted 
case to the doctor’s eager hand. There were some 
tiny compressed tablets in one corner of it that would 
do great things for the Cure’s overtaxed heart. Peter 
was smiling as he ground one of them to powder at 
the thought of what it was going to accomplish. The 
Cure, summoning strength to keep his eyes open for 
half a minute, wondered what Peter was smiling at, 
but had hardly strength to ask. So he just smiled, 
too, on general principles. 

“Take this,” said Peter, holding a tablespoon to the 
Cure’s lips. “It’s the one thing in the whole world 
you need. It took them months, over in one of the 
great laboratories in New York, to discover it.” 

“It’s lucky you had it with you, Peter,” Pierre re- 
marked. 

“It’s more than lucky,” said the Cure softly. 

Pierre knew better than to bother the Cure with a 
question. He looked to Peter for an explanation. 

“He’ll tell you some day,” Peter suggested. 

“No, you tell me now.” 

“Why, the Cure just knows, along with some of the 


‘TILL THE CURE COMES TO’’ 249 

rest of us, that a lot of things in this world don’t just 
chance to happen. Life never seems so wonderful as 
when you’re right up against one of them.” 

“Like now?” 

“Yes, like now.” 

“How can you surely tell when you’re up against 
one?” 

“You know it, somehow. You see at a glance how 
many things have been made to fit in. Been made, 
mind you, not just happened.” 

“Do people sometimes not know it?” 

“Yes, thoughtless people.” 

“It’s a pity not to know, isn’t it?” 

“It’s a tragedy.” 

“Tragedy?” 

“Yes; that means something so terrible it breaks 
your heart.” 

“It’s pretty bad to be thoughtless, isn’t it?” 

“It’s a crime.” 

“But sometimes, Peter, things don’t seem to fit in 
at all.” 

“Sometimes they don’t, I warrant. Those are the 
times that try your soul. But if your soul is all it 
should be, it’s worth trying.” 

“I should hate to be thoughtless, Peter,” Pierre said 
very earnestly. 

“Never you fear,” whispered the Cure, who had 
been listening in a listless way. ^^Ohstine now and 
then but never thoughtless.” Whereupon Pierre, if 
he had not been intercepted, would have given the 


250 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

poor, weak Cure quite too hard a hug. Indeed, Peter 
drew him into the other room, so that Pierre won- 
dered what was up. 

“This is up,” Peter answered. “You are to be off 
down the side of this mountain as fast as ^^our legs 
and a guide can take you, and into Chamonix with 
the good news about the Cure, and home to the be- 
loved Saintons. And tell everybody that back we’ll 
come, the Cure and I, just as soon as it is wise for us 
to make the start and not one moment sooner.” 

“Oh, Peter I” cried Pierre with all the pleading pos- 
sible in look and tone, for he longed to stay. 

“ ‘Till he comes to,’ you said, you remember,” Peter 
answered. 

And Pierre, with a newly formed respect for con- 
tracts, did as he was bid. 


CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH 


, IMPORTANT PLANS. 

Freely we serve 
Because we freely love. 

— Milton. 

M EANWHILE” is not a very long word, but it 
can cover everything that’s been going on in 
the whole round globe while you and I have been giv- 
ing our absorbed attention to some one little corner 
of it. Indeed, that is about all most of us can do, or 
are expected to, fortunately. In this particular instance 
“meanwhile” stands for the doings of all those other 
people with which this story has to do, outside of the 
little room where we have been on watch with Peter. 
Nearest on the outside, of course, were Jacques Bal- 
mat and his wife Susette. In the very next room, in 
fact. The last forty-eight hours had been as full for 
them as for anybody, for as host and hostess they had 
to look out for everybody. But now they were to 
have quite a rest. They had promised Peter that so 
far as in them lay to prevent it not a single mountain- 
climber should be allowed to set out from Chamonix 
until Peter himself should say that their coming would 

251 


252 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

mean no harm. They had promised themselves, as 
well, for great was their own love for the Cure. Of 
course Peter was going to see to it that the Balmats 
should not be the losers by this arrangement, and how 
thankful he was every day of his life that his work for 
certain rich people had brought him the means whereby 
he could “see to it,” whenever occasion required. But 
it would have been all one to the Balmats. Nothing 
short of some lost mountain-climber stumbling into 
the inn in a state of exhaustion would have been al- 
lowed to intrude upon the perfect quiet they knew to 
be absolutely necessary. 

Down in the vale of Chamonix the people in excited 
little groups were still talking over all that had be- 
fallen Peter’s party. Late in the afternoon of each 
day many would gather about the Chef-guide’s office, 
half the village, in fact, waiting the return of whichever 
guide had volunteered in the morning to make the trip 
to the Grands Mulets and bring back the latest word 
from the Cure. And every afternoon, a half-hour or 
so before the messenger was expected, Pierre would 
beg off from duties in the store and meet him some- 
where out on the road, so eager was he to learn just 
what that word might be. 

It wasn’t only out of eagerness to hear from the 
Cure, either. He would ply the messenger thick and 
fast with inquiries about Peter. How did he look, 
what did he say, and did he send any special message? 
One afternoon the messenger handed Pierre a note. 
It was the first letter he had ever received from Peter, 


IMPORTANT PLANS 


253 

and he put it right away in his pocket for safe-keeping. 

“Better read it,” suggested the guide, but Pierre had 
no thought of reading Peter’s letter trudging along a 
dusty road in company with another fellow. As he 
volunteered no explanation, merely shaking his head by 
way of declining well-meant advice, the guide shrugged 
his shoulders, saying, “Do as you like, it’s no affair of 
mine.” As that was just Pierre’s own reason for keep- 
ing his letter to himself, they jogged on for a while 
in silence, Pierre setting a faster pace. When they 
came to the village, he darted up the Rue de I’Lglise 
to the cemetery back of the church and there in the 
shadow of one of its many crosses devoured Peter’s 
letter. It contained a few directions about some things 
he wanted attended to, but it was mainly one of those 
delightful letters written because one feels like writing, 
without anything very particular to say, unless telling 
people how much you care for them is in point of fact 
the very most particular thing in the world. 

At last one afternoon the messenger brought word 
to the crowd waiting at the office that in three or four 
days more they expected to be able to move the Cure 
home. You may believe there was rejoicing then. 
Men waved their hats and boys threw theirs high into 
the air. In a trice there was a din of talking, as every- 
one fell to discussing what would be the best way to 
welcome him. 

Madame Conrad, who was on hand every day to 
hear the report of the messenger, moved about on 
the edge of the crowd listening in an attentive, eager 


254 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

way now to one group of talkers and now to another, 
and smiling to herself as she listened. After a while, 
seeming quite satisfied with all she had heard, she 
started off in a direction away from her hotel. She 
looked up at De Saussure and Balmat as she passed 
and actually nodded her head to them. Pierre had 
made them seem as real to her as to others. That 
they themselves were always looking quite over the 
heads of their admirers did not bother anybody. In- 
deed, as Pierre had discovered, it was just that upward 
gazing that held the charm for everybody. Helen, 
standing in the open window of her room in the chalet, 
saw Madame Conrad incline her head to the statue 
and smile. Then she waved her hand to attract her 
attention, and secured a bow on her own account. A 
thought struck her. 

“Madame Conrad, may I go with you?” she cried 
at the top of her strong little lungs. It’s rather funny 
that lungs should have tops and that they should be 
the strongest part of them. 

“Yes, indeed,” Madame Conrad called back without 
slackening her pace, knowing that Helen could quickly 
catch up with her. 

“Are you sure you’d just as lief have me?” Helen 
asked, speaking in English, as Madame Conrad, for 
practice, liked to have her. 

“Liefer,” she replied with a smile. 

“You’ve changed a great deal, Madame Conrad,” 
said Helen as they walked on together. 

“How changed, Helen?” 


IMPORTANT PLANS 


255 


‘‘You didn’t use to smile when you said things.” 

“I didn’t use to have anything to smile about. You 
don’t smile much unless you have people to love.” 

“And now you have a lot, haven’t you? Pierre and 
Peter and Hilaire and the Saintons, and Colette and 
her mother, and my father and mother, and me, and 
— Dr. de Saussure and Balmat,” remembering the 
bow. “You don’t know the Cure, do you?” she added 
regretfully. 

“No, but I love him along with the rest of you. 
If you admire people, sometimes, you suddenly find 
you are loving them without knowing them.” 

“Oh, yes ! I never saw Brooks and Lincoln, two of 
my best friends, just as Pierre never saw De Saussure 
and Balmat. But I don’t understand how you could 
come often to Chamonix without knowing the Cure.” 

“Oh, I have been without everything, perhaps, be- 
cause I have stayed out of everything. I have not 
been in any church for years, but I’m going the first 
time the Cure says mass.” 

“That won’t be long now. I guess the church won’t 
hold the people, because we’ll all go. Isn’t it nice 
the way the Protestants and Catholics are all mixed 
up together here in Chamonix?” 

“Yes, it is nice. How do you account for it?” 

Helen liked above all things to be talked to like 
a grown-up, so she scowled away trying to think how 
to account for it. Then the clew came to her in the 
shape of a wayside shrine. Madame Conrad had 
paused in front of it for a moment to catch her breath. 


256 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

for the path for some distance had been steadily 
ascending. 

“I suppose,” said Helen, glancing up at the cross, 
“that’s what ought to make us all good friends.” 

“But it hasn’t always.” 

“Yes, I know,” for Helen had a little knowledge of 
history at her command. Then, glancing about to make 
sure no one was coming, she said eagerly, “I never said 
a prayer before a shrine; I would like to see how it 
seems. You say one too,” and, reaching for Madame 
Conrad’s hand, she fairly drew her onto her knees 
beside her. “Now I You pray for me and I’ll pray for 
you, and let us both pray for the Cure.” Helen spoke 
with the same perfect naturalness that she would have 
said “Let’s play” to a child-friend. 

The little shrine on the mountainside marked al- 
most the end of the climb. For when Helen begged 
to be allowed to accompany Madame Conrad she 
knew perfectly well where she was going. That was 
the reason she wanted to go. You know, too, for 
Pierre ran down this very path one day and breath- 
lessly hurried back again with Peter’s precious case 
in his keeping. It was Colette they were on their way 
to see, and there she sat, bundled up in a big rocking- 
chair, taking the air just outside the door of the cot- 
tage. She had discovered who it was kneeling before 
the shrine, and her eager little spirit could scarcely 
brook the delay. 

“It seemed as though you would never get through 


IMPORTANT PLANS 


257 

praying,” she called out the moment they were within 
speaking distance. 

“Never you mind, because I prayed for you too,” 
Helen answered. “Did you, Madame Conrad?” 

Madame Conrad had to own up that she hadn’t. 
It was rather a new experience, this being fairly pulled 
to her knees, and then being questioned as to what 
she had prayed about. 

“But you did pray, didn’t you?” for Helen liked to 
have any program of her making carried out to the 
letter. 

“Oh, yes, I guess so. I tried to, but I never knelt 
down before a shrine before,” at which confession lit- 
tle Colette was so aghast that Madame Conrad looked 
very uncomfortable. 

“Why, neither did I, Colette,” said Helen, endeavor- 
ing to come to the rescue. 

As Helen was “just a Protestant” Colette paid lit- 
tle heed, but for a Catholic not to kneel before a 
shrine seemed to Colette in the light of her peasant up- 
bringing almost an unpardonable sin. 

“When I am well and running about,” Colette sol- 
emnly explained, “I never go by that shrine without 
praying, and sometimes I run past it twenty times a 
day. When the Cure comes home, Madame Conrad, 
he will tell you that that is what a shrine is for.” 

Madame Conrad was beginning to be amused at the 
situation. It was really quite delicious to have these 
two children set themselves up as her religious mentors. 


258 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

But it would never do to show her amusement, so she 
wisely changed the subject. 

“Where’s your mother, Colette?” 

“She went to town to learn about the Cure and do 
some errands. It’s the first time she’s dared to leave 
me alone, but now I can walk, you know, and get any- 
thing I need for myself.” 

“I guess you wouldn’t be walking if you hadn’t had 
two of our great doctors to care for you,” for there 
was a streak of the boastful American even in Helen. 

“No, I’d have been dead, wouldn’t I, Madame Con- 
rad?” 

“From all they tell me, I fear you would.” 

“And I wouldn’t have had this but for you” — 
proudly stroking the eider-down wrapper she was wear- 
ing — “and so many other beautiful things. I am so 
glad to be alive. It’s good to have a lot of fine new 
friends, isn’t it, Madame Conrad?” 

“It is, indeed.” 

“You’re glad to be alive now, too, aren’t you? 
Pierre told me once he thought you didn’t care much 
about it.” 

“Yes, that was true, and not very long ago either, 
but not since I came to know you, Colette, and Helen. 
And to-day I’m gladder than ever because, what do 
you think? they expect to bring the Cure home next 
week. I’ve just come from the guide’s office, where I 
learned the news, and everybody’s thinking and plan- 
ning how to welcome him.” 

“They ought to plan to welcome Peter too,” said 


IMPORTANT PLANS 2^9 

Helen decidedly. “There wouldn’t have been any 
Cure coming back but for Peter and Pierre.” 

“Oh, Peter will have his share, no doubt, in the 
welcome, and I have been thinking if there isn’t some- 
thing we ourselves could do. I would not care how 
many francs it took if we could only make it a royal 
welcome.” 

“Wouldn’t you?” Helen cried excitedly. “Well, 
then, I can tell you what to do,” for being blessed 
with a fertile brain and a lively imagination, the mere 
suggestion of a royal welcome seemed almost imme- 
diately to make a wonderful scheme present itself to 
her mind’s eye. She forthwith proceeded to elaborate 
it in such rapid fashion that it was rather difficult at 
times for Madame Conrad and Colette to take it all 
in. None the less, they sat entranced listeners, Ma- 
dame Conrad volunteering an important suggestion of 
her own, now and then, until between them they had 
planned out a truly royal welcome. 

“It is far beyond anything I heard suggested by 
anyone in the village,” Madame Conrad said com- 
placently. 

“And why?” Helen had, as you have observed, 
rather a grown-up way of talking now and then. “Be- 
cause you have the francs that will do it, Madame Con- 
rad.” 

“And because you have the ideas to tell one what 
to do with them.” And Madame Conrad’s face was 
as red as the children’s with excitement. 


26 o little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


“I wish I could be in it somewhere,” sighed Co- 
lette. 

“Be in it? Why, you’re to be in the very front of 
it,” cried Helen. 

“How?” 

“Oh, I haven’t thought how yet, but in some beauti- 
ful way. Nothing could make Peter happier than see- 
ing you right off first thing, because he’s done as much 
for you as for the Cure.” 

“Yes, just as much,” Colette answered proudly. 

“I should say we ought to have a committee in order 
to work efficiently,” Madame Conrad suggested. 

“Oh, yes, of course,” Helen agreed heartily. “Let’s 
go right down to your hotel and make a list of peo- 
ple and have a meeting in your salon to-night. We’ll 
get Pierre to go tell the people. Your mother will 
be home soon, Colette, and it won’t be dark for an 
hour. You don’t mind our leaving you, do you?” And 
Colette, as eager as they to get plans under way, did 
not mind in the least. She had not the remotest idea 
what was meant by a committee, but if it was needed, 
why of course the sooner they got it the better. 

It seemed a pretty long half-hour, however, before 
her mother put in an appearance. Long enough also 
for that unusual word “committee” to give her the 
slip. She had to content herself with telling all about 
the great plans, with the unremembered something they 
were going to have, probably the most splendid thing 
of all, left out. 


CHAPTER EIGHTEENTH 


A ROYAL WELCOME 


Joy is the Grace we say to God. 

— Jean Ingelow. 



HE committee met several times. Dr. Jones was 


1 on it, Grand-pere Sainton, three or four guides, 
and several other men and women selected to repre- 
sent different parts of the town. And Pierre and 
Helen, of course, were on it, too, though they had 
the good sense not to “speak up in meeting” very 
often. Indeed, there was no need. Seated one on 
either side of Madame Conrad, the meetings all being 
held in her salon, occasional whispered confidences to 
her answered every purpose. She would wait a few 
minutes after a suggestion for fear a meddlesome 
source might be suspected, and then, if she approved, 
would make the suggestion quite as though she was 
its sponsor, while Helen and Pierre listened with an 
inward chuckle. 

Of course, all the conditions for the Cure’s home- 
ward journey had to be favorable, but at last the day 
dawned. The Cure said, as he had said many times 
before, that he felt equal to it, and Peter, now assured 


262 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


that he was right and that cloudless skies and perfect 
temperature should be taken advantage of, agreed to 
an early start. The party got under way pretty early 
in the morning. Anybody who had been thinking he 
would do any climbing in any direction had to change 
his mind. There were no guides to be had and the 
office of the Chef-guide was closed. For that one day, 
as for those first two days after his rescue, the Cure 
virtually owned Mont Blanc, the Chamonix side of it, 
at any rate, and pretty much everything else in Chamo- 
nix and out of it. 

At a point where the trail comes out on the road 
a carriage was waiting, a carriage with white horses 
and white enameled harness, if you please. You may 
believe the Cure’s eyes opened wide with wonder as 
the guides set his stretcher down beside it; and wider, 
still, as, lifting the stretcher over the back of the car- 
riage, they slid him down on to a mattress that com- 
pletely filled it. Beside the carriage stood Pierre and 
one of the guides, both fairly buried in a pile of 
cushions held in their extended arms to be handed up 
one by one as they were required. Peter, on his knees 
beside the Cure in the carriage, was tucking them in 
here and there, just where they were most needed to 
make the ride as comfortable as possible. At last, 
when everything was in readiness and Peter was just 
starting to mount to his seat beside the driver on the 
box, the Cure drew him down to him. 

“Could I have Pierre in here with me? He could 
sit close to the corner. He wouldn’t disturb me at 


A ROYAL WELCOME 


263 

all,” and the next moment Pierre was established in 
the corner, his legs straight out before him, and the 
Cure’s head all but resting against his shoulder. He 
had looked at the carriage with longing eyes but had 
not quite dared to ask. The Cure had caught a glimpse 
of the longing and did the asking. 

“Don’t you dare speak unless you’re spoken to, 
Pierre,” said Peter, looking down from the box. 
“And the less speaking you do, Jerome, the better,” 
and the Cure, whom Peter, you see, now called by his 
first name, nodded his head as though he had no other 
thought under heaven than to strictly obey instructions. 

The guides, who had accompanied the Cure all the 
way from the inn to the road, relieving one another as 
occasion required, all jumped into a hay wagon that 
had been sent out for them and jogged along behind 
the carriage. And Jacques Balmat and Susette were, 
of course, of the party. They had left the door of the 
inn unlocked for the sake of any lone wayfarer, and 
some food in plain sight in case of need. Surely that 
was all that could be expected of them under the cir- 
cumstances. They were a proud and happy-looking 
crowd, all feeling highly honored to be a part of the 
Cure’s escort. But for concentrated pride and hap- 
piness, let me commend you to the mien and bearing of 
Pierre as he sat bolt upright in his corner, beaming 
smiles upon his way. To be allowed to be right in 
there beside the Cure and to have the Cure want him I 
Could there ever be such a supreme combination in 
all his life again, he wondered. Now and then the 


264 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

Cure would make some surreptitious observation, un- 
beknown to the grim tyrant on the box. 

‘‘It fits exactly,” he said, glancing down at the 
baize-covered mattress, which was not all concealed 
by the white fur rug Peter had tucked around him. 

“Of course it does,” Pierre whispered, his eyes 
riveted on Peter’s back to anticipate any sign of de- 
flection. “It took Gaspard three whole days in his 
shop to make it. I helped him take the measurements.” 

“And the pillows match.” 

But Pierre only nodded, because Peter’s back seemed 
to look more ominous. 

“And the harness I Did you see the harness?” whis- 
pered the Cure. 

“Did 1 1 I clay-piped the bridles all myself.” 

“Have you had a hand in everything?” 

“I’ve tried to.” 

Then instantly the Cure’s eyes closed, and Pierre’s 
gaze was centered on the far horizon. Peter, chang- 
ing his position, had scared them half to death. 

All this while they were going along at a very good 
pace, the improvised ambulance proving perfectly com- 
fortable. Indeed, the work horses in the hay wagon 
had to be urged very constantly and vigorously to 
keep up with it at all. But fortunately for them any- 
thing faster than a walk became impossible when they 
reached the village. At its outermost edge an arch of 
evergreens spanned the road, and between the lines of 
roping were gold letters large enough to be easily read 


'd 

A ROYAL WELCOME 265 

at a distance. Peter had the carriage stop at an angle 
so that the Cure could get a good look at it. 

“What does it say, Pierre?” he asked, blinking. 

“It says. Wive le cher Cure I’ ” 

The Cure made never an answer. He just pressed 
his lips together, dumb as well as half blind with 
the joyous surprise of it all. Once under the arch 
the real ovation began, for beyond it on one side of 
the road stood Grand-pere Sainton holding in his hand 
the end of a heavy evergreen rope with a wide scarlet 
ribbon bow attached to it. Across the road and di- 
rectly opposite stood Grand’mere Sainton holding the 
end of a similarly beribboned rope. Some thirty feet 
farther on Madame Conrad held the rope high in her 
two hands so that it drooped in a festoon between 
Grand’mere Sainton and herself, and opposite Madame 
Conrad, Dr. Jones held Grand-pere Sainton’s rope 
so that formed a festoon in the same way. Then 
came Marie and Mrs. Jones, then two other people 
opposite each other, and so on and on, each two the 
same distance from the next two and all holding the 
rope aloft, so that festoon followed festoon, such a 
living garland as was never seen before, I warrant, 
stretching far away down the road, and every face 
lighted with the joy of being a part of it. At last it 
dropped to a lower level, where a long line of radiant 
children formed their part of the garland. 

Some six hundred feet from the first arch the car- 
riage came to a halt under a second one. Mounted on 
either side atop of this one were Helen and Colette 


266 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


holding a white silk banner stretched taut between 
them, on which were the words in gold, “Vive Mon- 
sieur le Docteur Alwyn.” So this time it was Peter 
who was taken by surprise, but he was instantly on his 
feet bowing and waving his hat and trying to tell those 
who were nearest to him how honored and grateful he 
was. At the same moment, however, the village band, 
regardless of speechmaking, and doing just as they had 
been told, struck up the Marseillaise and fell into line 
at the head of the procession. Peter gave the order 
to drive on to the coachman, but Colette, tossing her 
end of the banner to Helen, vigorously countermanded 
it. 

“Oh, no, wait please! They said I was to ride 
with you. Monsieur le Docteur. Catch me! Pm go- 
ing to jump.” And Peter caught her and made room 
for her on the seat between himself and the driver. 

“And how about you?” he called up to Helen. 

“Oh, I’m supposed to be strong enough to walk,” 
she answered rather ruefully. 

“There’s plenty of room back here,” pleaded Pierre. 

“Yes, plenty,” chimed in the Cure, and then in a 
flash Helen was established beside the Cure in the 
other corner of the carriage. 

And now the procession, which was under way again, 
suddenly grew to be much more of an affair. For as 
soon as the carriage had passed them the Saintons, 
still holding the ribboned ends of the ropes of ever- 
green, fell in behind it, and when they had gained a 
headway of thirty feet, Mrs. Conrad and Dr. Jones 


A ROYAL WELCOME 267 

fell in behind them, and then the next two, and so 
on, so that the garland that lined either side of the 
roadway ahead of the carriage became a procession 
of people marching two and two behind it, with roping 
of evergreen reaching from pair to pair. The guides 
in the hay wagon brought up the rear, but to their sur- 
prise the horses had been exchanged for a double yoke 
of stunning tan-colored oxen, their horns decorated 
with scarlet ribbons and tinkling bells. The village 
people had seen to it that the daring guides who had 
accomplished the rescue of Peter, Pierre, and the Cure 
should have their share of that day’s glorification. Oh, 
it was a great day! Can’t you see that it was? Trav- 
elers who came up to Chamonix by the afternoon train 
were obliged to look after themselves, but soon learned 
what was in the wind and counted themselves fortunate 
to have a share in it. 

“It’s your Cure in the carriage there?” one of them 
questioned a peasant girl, who stood a little apart from 
the crowd, looking on. 

“Indeed, yes. You have heard? He was thrown 
into a crevasse up on the mountain by an avalanche 
and barely escaped with his life. He’s only just able 
to be moved home. The man on the seat with the 
driver there — that is the great Doctor Alwyn, of New 
York, and he and the little fellow in the back of the 
carriage were carried down, too, by the same ava- 
lanche. Wonderful to say, all three were rescued 
together by the men yonder in the ox-wagon.” 

“You certainly know how to do honor to your he-* 


268 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


roes here in Chamonix,” the stranger answered. “You 
must love your Cure.” 

As there were no words that could tell how much 
they loved him, the girl merely shook her head. 

“Why so much?” 

Why? Did you get a good look at him as he went 
by?” 

“Yes, I did,” for the stranger had happened to 
catch the Cure’s eye as the carriage moved slowly past. 
“It’s a wonderfully handsome face.” 

“It’s more than that. Often there’s a great light in 
it. Always when he preaches the sermon. Didn’t you 
see It? We love him because he Is so kind and never 
thinks of himself, but we love him most for the light. 
It’s his beautiful soul looking out. And he loves us. 
Nothing but death will ever take him from us, but it 
has just come so near to taking him,” and the girl 
shivered, “It’s no wonder we’re glad to-day. Is It?” 

“ ‘He that loseth his life shall find It,’ ” said the 
stranger, and the girl looked at him questloningly. 

“I mean, here is your village priest finding his life 
to-day in all this wonderful proof of the love of the 
people he serves, and here am I traveling the world 
over for pleasure and not finding my life at all, nor 
much pleasure either. I’ve a good mind to go home 
to America from here and try to lose my own life for 
other people, somehow. Bon soir. Mademoiselle,” 
and as he looked directly at her to bid her good-by, the 
girl saw that his eyes were misty. 

“I’m not ashamed of it,” he said, though he colored 


A ROYAL WELCOME 269 

a little. “I shall not soon forget my first afternoon 
in Chamonix. I shall never forget it.” 

The girl watched the stranger as he walked away. 

“No more will any of us,” she said to herself, since 
there was now no one else to speak to, giving the 
rings of bread a push up her arm for the sake of com- 
fort. 

When the head of the procession had reached the 
center of the village, the band which was in the lead 
took a street to the right instead of the shorter route to 
the Cure’s house. 

“Why?” questioned Peter, glancing down at Pierre. 

“There’s a reason,” laughed Pierre, always delighted 
when he could quote any phrase direct from Peter. 
“It’s to please me. I couldn’t let them forget my 
old friends,” and the next moment Peter discovered 
the reason. The detour was made to pass the statue. 
And there they stood, the doctor and Balmat, the rock 
under their feet a solid mass of green moss as beauti- 
ful as though it had been lifted bodily from its bed 
on the mountain, while the low iron railing, its outline 
perfectly preserved, was all wound about with some 
exquisite fern-like variety of evergreen. 

“I did it,” said Pierre complacently. “It took three 
days.” Helen looked at him accusingly. “I let Helen 
help me,” he added. 

“It’s a work of art!” Peter exclaimed. **Helen and 
you are to be congratulated,” and Pierre, noting the 
accent, reddened. He knew that Peter thought he had 
a little too good an opinion of himself sometimes. He 


270 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

knew it, too, but of one thing he felt sure — he was 
not quite as ohstine as he used to be. 

“Pm glad you had the sense not to put any wreaths 
or things on the men themselves,” said Peter. “It al- 
ways makes a statue look positively foolish.” 

“Yes,” said Helen with an I-told-you-so air, for she 
had insisted upon no decorations for De Saussure and 
Balmat. “It’s a pity,” she added, “that they cannot 
look down for once and see all that’s going on.” 

“Oh, that’s all right,” laughed the Cure, “Balmat is 
showing the doctor the exact spot where we fellows 
spent the night, isn’t he, Pierre?” 

“Of course he is,” with perfect seriousness, for 
Pierre’s imagination balked at nothing. 

“Look here, old fellow,” said Peter, observing the 
Cure closely, “if I’m not mistaken, you’re getting pretty 
tired.” 

“I’m all right; it isn’t far now.” 

But Pierre, in obedience to a wink from Peter, 
dropped over the side of the carriage, and hurrying to 
the bandmaster suggested that the procession should 
move faster. So on they went and back to the Rue Na- 
tional rather more briskly than was quite dignified for 
a procession. The Saintons had long ago taken to a 
little fiacre that had kept within hailing distance from 
the start by Madame Conrad’s orders, the ends of the 
garlands being given into the keeping of Madame Con- 
rad and Dr. Jones, who had become the head of the 
procession, their places in the chain being gladly filled 
by two of the guides, walking being much more in 


A ROYAL WELCOME 


271 

their line and more to their liking than riding in the 
slow-moving ox-cart. 

Turning up the Rue de Tfiglise, the band came to 
a halt at the church, the carriage moving on to the 
Cure’s house farther up the hill. It had been arranged 
that the procession itself should disband at this point. 
With Madame Conrad and Dr. Jones overseeing, and 
the band playing cheerily all the while, the evergreen 
roping was dropped from the hands of those who were 
carrying it into two coils. When these were as high 
as hands could reach, the rope was cut and two other 
coils commenced. And when at last those bringing up 
the rear had dropped their ends of the garland into 
place there were half a dozen of these coils on either 
side of the street. By the time this orderly proceed- 
ing had been gone through with it was difficult to find 
standing room anywhere. From the church at its head 
to its foot where the Rue de I’figlise joins the Rue 
Nationale the street was packed from house-line to 
house-line. All the little balconies of the houses were 
filled with people, while frojn every window command- 
ing the street as many looked down as could possibly 
be crowded into it. 

Looking up as the carriage passed, the Cure had 
showed by a glance that he had recognized some of 
those in the windows. 

“He knew me, he knew me,” one and another would 
cry exultingly. 

Whether recognized or no there were few dry eyes. 
There is no love like that of the flock for its shepherd, 


272 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

if he is of the soul-restoring kind, and the Cure, modest 
though he was, could not help having some idea of 
how much his people cared for him. It was this that 
had made him solemnly affirm that if the Bishop would 
only leave him where he was nothing but death should 
ever part him from them. They loved him none the 
less for an affirmation that made them feel so secure 
in his affection. 

It was not just by chance, however, that the crowd 
stood so densely packed in the little street. Room was 
being made by much contraction of natural propor- 
tions for a score of boys to pass in and out among the 
people distributing little paper-covered books from 
canvas bags slung across their shoulders. And now 
the onlookers from upper windows and balconies were 
at a distinct disadvantage. Occasionally the boys in 
response to entreaty would toss up one of the little 
books in an effort to reach them, but generally, falling 
wide of the mark, it would be caught in some extended 
hand in the crowd below. 

Meanwhile the Cure was being carefully borne by 
the guides into his house and up the narrow stairway. 
When they dropped him gently into bed a great sigh of 
satisfaction escaped him and he just looked at Peter. 
Peter knew the look meant “Was there ever anything 
so beautiful and wonderful in all this world as that I 
should be back in my own room in my own home!” 
and Peter understanding said aloud, 

“Yes, it is pretty fine, old fellow!” 

As for Helen and Pierre and Colette, truth compels 


A ROYAL WELCOME 


273 


me to state that they deserted the Cure unceremoni- 
ously the instant the carriage came to a stop at his 
door. 

“They don’t need us,” Pierre had called back, taking 
to his heels, and Helen forthwith took to hers, while 
Colette, not yet as vigorous as she was soon going to 
be, followed more slowly. The idea, of course, was 
not to miss any of the goings on In the Rue de Tfigllse. 
Pierre rushed into the church and out again, bringing 
In his hands a dozen or so of the little books which 
he had wisely put somewhere In hiding, and which 
were quickly taken possession of by those standing 
near, with the exception of a single copy reserved for 
Helen, Colette and himself. They were quite willing 
to look over one book if necessary. And then In a mo- 
ment the church bell began to ring, and at the signal 
the noise In the street was instantly hushed. In the 
belfry window and leaning far out stood Jean Gas- 
pard, holding In his hand a stocky baton wound with 
red ribbon, which could be clearly seen the length of the 
street by those who had good eyes. Jean had the 
most glorious tenor voice. All eyes were riveted on 
him as he held his baton poised high over his head, 
and then with its first swing the great crowd almost as 
one man broke into a splendid chorus familiar to all 
the people. 

Marvelous was the time they kept and, with the 
words in everyone’s hand, the splendid volume of sound 
was sustained to the end. Standing shoulder to shoul- 
der in the narrow street they sang that little book 


274 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

through from cover to cover, with brief rests between, 
the church bell ringing out each time to insure silence 
before commencing a new hymn. 

When the first notes of the great chorus reached 
Peter and the Cure they looked at each other aghast 
with delight and astonishment. 

“It sounds as though the whole village were sing- 
ing, Peter,” and the Cure’s voice was all a tremble 
with excitement. “Could you get me to the window?” 

So Peter got him into a strong chair and pulled and 
pushed him to the window as fast as ever he could. 
The Cure felt faint for a moment as he looked down 
on the dense throng crowding up to the steps of his 
little church, but the next moment back came the color 
to his white face with the joy of realizing what it all 
meant. Coming into the room just then with some 
much-needed nourishment for the Cure, his house- 
keeper laid on his lap a copy of the little book they 
were using down in the street. On the cover was the 
date and under it the words: 

En I’Honneur de la joyeuse Retour 
de Monsieur le Cure 
Sauve comme par Miracle 
Et Rendu a ses Paroissiens Devoues 
de Chamonix 

The meaning of which is about as plain as though 
it were written in English. 


A ROYAL WELCOME 


27J 

Peter opened the book to discover on its first page 
a fine full-length photograph of the Cure, which made 
them both open their eyes for wonder. 

“Wherever did they get that !” exclaimed the Cure. 
“I never saw it before.” 

“Neither did I, but, by Jove, it’s a splendid picture 

and, what’s more ” pausing at the surprise of the 

discovery — “I took it.” The Cure looked as though 
he thought Peter as mad as a March hare. 

“I didn’t know you when I took it, but there you 
were standing on the steps of your own church, that 
first afternoon that I prowled around Chamonix, and 
I could not resist the temptation.” 

“But you say you never saw it before?” 

“No more have I. That rascal Pierre has just 
stopped at nothing. He has unloaded my camera and 
had the whole film developed. He was with me when 
I took it. Afterward he introduced me to you just 
inside the church door. Don’t you remember?” 

The Cure nodded. 

“You’re not angry about the film, are you?” he 
asked, a little anxious for Pierre. 

“The end justifies the means,” and Peter’s eyes 
twinkled. 

“What a lot of things they have thought of!” The 
Cure sighed as though almost oppressed with their 
magnitude. “Where has the money come from?” 

“Madame Conrad, don’t you think?” 

“Oh, certainement! I don’t believe she has any time 
to be lonely nowadays.” 


276 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

All this was, of course, In the Intervals. While the 
singing was going on they listened with all their might. 

And now what air Is It that Is coming In through 
the open windows? It Is none other than the hymn 
with the refrain : 

Son immense charite, 

Dure a perpetuite. 

At the first strain of It Peter and the Cure were In- 
stantly back In the mountain, recalling with shuddering 
keenness all the memories of that never-ending night. 

At the same moment Pierre’s hand had suddenly 
gripped Helen’s. 

“It’s a favorite of the Cure’s; he sang It as loxig as 
he possibly could,” he explained with a shiver, “that 
night In the crevasse.” Pierre for one was glad when 
that particular hymn was over, but sorry enough, as 
was everybody, when the singing came to an end and 
the crowd began to disperse. 

Peter noticed that quite a flock of people seemed to 
be making their way toward the cottage, and as they 
came nearer he heard his own name called out dis- 
tinctly. Fearing any more excitement for the Cure, 
he closed the window and hurried from the house to 
meet them, signaling to them not to come nearer. 

“They want you to tell them all about the ava- 
lanche,” explained Pierre, who as usual was In the 
vanguard, “and we’ve come to get you. The rest are 
waiting near the church yonder. They sent us for 
you.” 


A ROYAL WELCOME 


277 

Nothing loath, Peter let them carry him off. If 
there was anything he could do he was more than 
ready. All along the line of march he had shared 
the honors with the Cure and his heart was bursting 
with gratitude. Gathered in larger and smaller groups 
on the hillside just above the cemetery, the people were 
waiting, and standing a little apart from the others, 
talking with Colette and her mother, was Madame 
Conrad. Peter had her hand in both of his in a mo- 
ment. 

“Of course we all know who is back of this,” he 
said. 

“Oh, that does not signify,” with a shrug of her 
shoulders. “Everyone in the village is really back of 
it.” 

“All the same it could not have been but for you.” 

“But for you there would have been no Cure to 
come home,” she retorted and, feeling they were quits, 
Peter allowed Pierre to lead him on down the path 
to the point where he was evidently expected to stand. 
It happened to be directly underneath the massive 
wooden cross on the edge of the cemetery, and as he 
faced his audience the great panorama of mountains 
looming up behind him made the story he had to tell 
doubly vivid. 

As he tried to describe the snow castle upon which 
they had all been gazing in the fateful moment pre- 
ceding the avalanche, those who were listening had 
but to lift their eyes to Mont Blanc, transformed by 
the magic of a glowing sunset, to imagine every de- 


278 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

tail. It was a wonderfully graphic story that Peter 
told, and the deeps upon deeps in his dark eyes shone 
with the depths of his feeling. Most of them had 
heard Pierre give his version of all that had happened, 
but it thrilled them even more to hear Dr. Alwyn tell 
it all in perfect sequence in his clear, dramatic way, 
while his broken French, with its unexpected accents, 
was as fascinating to them as the broken English of 
some foreigners to us Anglo-Saxons. It was like him 
to say as little about himself as possible, but just the 
same everyone knew the Cure had been as near to 
death as little Colette herself, and that but for Dr. 
Alwyn’s skill and watchful, brooding care he would 
never have been given back to them. 

All the people who had dispersed to their homes be- 
fore the doctor told his story never heard the end of 
what they had missed, and Grand-pere and Grand’mere 
Sainton, alas, were of that number. But Peter told it 
all over again to them that night, as best he could, at 
their own cozy supper table. Pierre saw him home 
afterward and up to his room. 

“May I?” he said, glancing toward the lounge and 
then up at Peter with all the pleading of an Irish set- 
ter in his expressive brown eyes, while with a whimsi- 
cal smile he whipped out his night fixings from under 
his little French jacket. 

“You mean spend the night?” 

“Yes. They said I could if you wanted me.” 

“To be sure I want you; what’s more, I need you,” 


A ROYAL WELCOME 


279 

and Peter dropped into an armchair, for he was very 
tired. 

“How need me?” for Pierre was exceedingly prac- 
tical. 

“See here,” and Peter, reaching for a well-worn 
book, opened to the fly-leaf. “Read that.” And Pierre 
read aloud slowly, for English writing was more dif- 
ficult than English speaking: 

“And each his way went through a world that could 
not make them ” 

“Twain,” said Peter, “it means two.” 

“That could not make them two,” Pierre repeated 
softly. 

“That’s why I need you when Pm as tired as I am 
to-night.” 

Pierre looked puzzled, then he crossed the room 
and began to make up his bed with a steamer rug on 
the lounge. He seemed to know when it was best not 
to bother Peter. He would think that out for him- 
self, but not much thinking did he do that night. He 
was about as dead tired as Peter. 


CHAPTER NINETEENTH 


“and that’s the glory of you” 

Sleep, Sleep, come to me Sleep, 

Blow on my face like a soft breath of air. 

Lay your cool hand on my forehead and hair, 

Carry me down through the dream-waters deep. 

— Henry Johnstone. 

F or quite a long while, three round weeks, in fact, 
we have been all absorbed in the goings on up 
at Chamonix to the neglect of some good people down 
at Aix. Besides, it has been so very dull down at 
Aix that even serene old Tante Lucia has succeeded in 
working herself into quite a fine frenzy. Hilaire, who 
had climbed the four flights of stairs to her room under 
the pergola with her hands full of Madame Bovaird’s 
flowers for the blue vases, found her looking as black 
as a thunder cloud. 

“Those are very pretty,” said Tante Lucia, glancing 
at the flowers. Then as Hilaire set about arranging 
them, the storm broke. “It’s a downright shame, and 
that’s all there is to it.” 

Hilaire knew perfectly well what she meant, but 
could think of nothing to say by way of excuse. 

280 


“AND THAT’S THE GLORY OF YOU” 281 


“Who would ever have thought when I asked you to 
bring your little cousin over to see us on the Fourth 
of July that so soon afterward he would carry our 
doctor up to Chamonix and keep him there half the 
summer?” 

“That is not quite fair.” 

“It’s a fact, isn’t it? You’ve been up to Chamo- 
nix yourself, remember, but some old friends who have 
had to stay right here seem to have been forgotten.” 

“You mean one old friend, don’t you? There is no 
one else he really ought to come back for.” 

“Possibly not, but if you agree with me that he 
ought to come back, there’s a little comfort in that.” 

Having arranged the flowers to her satisfaction, Hi- 
laire seated herself on a low chair opposite Tante Lu- 
cia. 

“This is what I think, you adorable old dear! That 
now that the Cure no longer needs him Peter ought 
to come — he could not come before, you know — that 
is, if he knows how much you care.” 

“Of course he knows. He was merely one of the 
guests of the Grand Hotel to me, and it quite took 
my old breath away when he began to be so kind and 
thoughtful, teaching me to depend upon him ; and when 
a person has done that it is terrible for them not to 
be dependable. Why, he has come to seem just like 
a son, and for all of the ten months he’s away I am 
looking forward to the other two when he’s here. And 
now half his time is gone and I’ve seen so little of 
him. There’s one thing that astonishes me, Hilaire, 


282 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


and that is to find that old hearts care as much as 
young ones. Mine cares more.” 

“And that’s the glory of you!” said a well-loved 
voice, and there in the doorway stood Peter. “I 
couldn’t resist the joy of taking you by surprise, Tante 
Lucia,” he explained, “and when I saw your door open 
I stole up softly and so I heard your last words. You 
don’t mind, do you?” 

“How much did you hear?” Tante Lucia asked 
rather gravely but with a smiling face. 

“Only that you had found out what I found out long 
ago, that old hearts care as much as young ones, and 
that yours cares more.” 

“Honest, Peter, only that?” 

“ ’Pon my honor, Tante Lucia.” 

“You see,” Hilaire explained, placing a chair for 
Peter, “we had just been talking about you.” 

“And I,” Tante Lucia interrupted, “had been scold- 
ing because you stayed away so long.” 

“I was thinking that you might be thinking it was 
time I came, and the moment I thought it I packed 
up and really I couldn’t come before. You see, the 
Cure was pretty ill and that kept me.” 

“If that’s a good way to keep you, perhaps I’ll fall 
ill.” 

“It’s a very bad way. Don’t you dare I” 

“Well, you’re here now anyway, and you might 
never have come back at all. Please begin at the be- 
ginning. I want to hear every word about the ava- 
lanche.” 


‘‘AND THATS THE GLORY OF YOU’’ 283 


“Hilaire must have told you pretty much all there 
is to tell.” 

“IVe done my best,” laughed Hilaire. “They’ve 
let me talk of little else ever since I came back from 
Chamonix.” 

But Peter settled himself for the story all the same. 
Hilaire, having delayed to hear just a little of it, had 
to slip away, for it was time she was back at the flower- 
market. In the door she met Franciline, who had 
stolen up to have a look at Peter, for it was known 
almost instantly throughout the whole house that the 
doctor had returned. 

“Take a seat, Franciline, and listen,” commanded 
Tante Lucia. And Franciline, who had thought only 
to peer in and perhaps have a wave of the hand from 
Peter, dropped gratefully into the nearest chair. 

When the story was ended, Tante Lucia nodded a 
dismissal to Franciline, but Peter delayed her to inquire 
for Alexandre, and to give her his keys with the re- 
quest that she would unpack his belongings. 

“I hear you have a new friend,” Tante Lucia re- 
marked in the course of the conversation. 

Peter was puzzled. 

“Oh, yes, Madame Conrad. She’s a trump I” 

Tante Lucia looked incredulous. 

“Oh, yes, she is,” said Peter. 

Tante Lucia shook her head. 

“How can she be? She’s a friend of those two 
awful women. They’re here yet and they’re worse 


284 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

than ever. I tell Albert I wouldn’t have them in the 
house if I were he.” 

“Nevertheless, what I say is true, Tante Lucia. 
Whatever Madame Conrad was, she’s a corker now. 
She had it in her; you’ll see when I have time to tell 
you about her. Good-by now, I am off to shake hands 
with Madame Bovaird. They haven’t any flower- 
market up at Chamonix.” 

“There must be many things here in Aix that they 
do not have at Chamonix,” she called after him, and 
then leaned back in her chair at a loss to account for 
the queerest feeling, half heavy-heartedness and half 
a sort of faintness. And then, if she had taken you 
into her confidence, she would have said, “Can it be 
possible that I, myself as silly as that child Pierre, am 
a little jealous of Madame Conrad? Would you think 
anyone so old could be such a fool? I’m not going 
to believe it. It must be indigestion.” The picture 
of disgust, she tossed her knitting to one side and 
mixed herself a big dose of bicarbonate of soda. 

Peter found Alexandre waiting at the door of the 
elevator on the ground floor in the hope of a hand- 
shake, which was not wanting, and then Peter was off, 
first to see Madame Bovaird and then for the luxury 
of a bath at the Ltablissement Thermal. These won- 
derful baths had had much to do with Peter’s coming 
to Aix in the first place and were quite enough in them- 
selves to keep his heart true to Aix in the face of all 
the beauties of Chamonix. After the bath came a walk 
up the hill to the Durands’ to thank them for letting 


“AND THAT’S THE GLORY OF YOU” 285 


Hilaire join the party at Chamonix. But those good 
people thought the thanks should be all the other way, 
as Hilaire had had the most wonderful outing imagin- 
able, and as Peter also “had seen to it” that there was 
no expense for anybody. 

It seemed mighty good all round to have Peter set- 
tle down to his old life among them, and he made up 
for lost time with Tante Lucia, taking her on drive 
after drive, even off to beautiful Lake Annecy for the 
day of her life, as she afterward described it. Never 
had so much that was of interest for her been crowded 
into twenty-four hours, but of course it was Peter who 
made it so interesting. Although it was only two 
hours away by train, Tante Lucia had never been there. 
They drove through the narrow arcaded streets and 
along the shaded driveway of the Canal du Vasse. 
They visited the Convent of the Visitation and the 
church, Tante Lucia counting it a great privilege to 
stand in silence a while before the gilded shrine con- 
taining the skeleton of Saint Francis. After they had 
made the rounds of the Museum, they sat down to rest 
awhile in one of the rooms. 

“What were you saying about Dr. Hamel, Peter?” 
asked Tante Lucia. 

“Oh, I was saying that yonder in those casket-like 
cases are the remains of the victims of the accident 
that befell his party. Rather gruesome, isn’t it? It 
happened in 1820. They were far up the mountain 
when a great rush of snow was started by their own 
weight, and the three guides who lost their lives were 


286 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


carried down some twelve hundred feet into a crevasse 
at the foot of the Rochers Rouges. That crevasse is 
at the head of one of the glaciers that come down to 
Chamonix. Long afterward people began to wonder if 
their bodies would not come to light some day, because 
it had been ascertained that that glacier moved at the 
rate of about two feet a day. Indeed, it was confi- 
dently predicted that they would be discovered after 
a lapse of about forty years.” 

“And they were discovered?” and Tante Lucia’s face 
was a strange mixture of horror and incredulity. 

“Yes, the prophecy came true, and on the fifteenth 
day of August, i86i, the ice gave up its dead. That 
is, on that day Ambroise Simond, a guide, found near 
the lower end of the glacier human remains and por- 
tions of clothing that had been entombed in the ice 
forty-one years. One of the bodies was identified as 
that of the guide, Pierre Balmat. Later on a careful 
search was made and various relics were found. Part 
of an alpen-stock, a crumpled book, shoes, gloves and 
ropes, a compass, a hat that had belonged to Pierre 
Carrier, a wing of a bird which Carrier had taken up 
with him in an old kettle, and a cooked leg of mut- 
ton.” 

All this made Tante Lucia look so very shivery and 
creepy that Peter rather blamed himself for going into 
detail. So bundling her out of the Museum and into 
the sunshine, he had her soon aboard a freshly painted 
little steamboat, making the tour of Annecy’s beautiful 
lake. It is a gem of a lake and abounding in interest. 


‘‘AND THAT’S THE GLORY OF YOU” 287 


When they sailed past the castle far up a hill above 
the lake, where Saint Bernard was born, Peter com- 
menced to hold forth, and before he finished he was 
conscious that some other people sitting near them 
were giving him as wrapt attention as Tante Lucia her- 
self. Saint Bernard had so long been a prime favorite 
with Peter that it seemed the most natural thing in the 
world, with his birthplace right there before his very 
eyes, to tell all he could remember of his thrilling story. 

The “day of her life” seemed all too short to Tante 
Lucia, but, none the less, it was a very tired old lady 
who swayed into her room that night, tired enough 
to accept Franciline’s kindly offer to help her get to 
bed. 

“We have one of our old guests back to-day,” she 
said, as she helped her to undress, “Madame Conrad.” 

Tante Lucia, to her gratification, heard the words 
without a pang. Probably because she felt perfectly 
reassured regarding Peter’s loyalty to herself. 

“And she has brought that little Pierre with her.” 

“Here to the hotel?” with as much surprise as she 
had strength for. 

“Yes, she says she’s brought him down from Chamo- 
nix to be her guest for the next two weeks, so as to let 
him see. a lot of Dr. Alwyn before he leaves for 
home.” 

Tante Lucia’s face fell for a second. She wondered 
if her own good times with Peter were at an end. Then, 
ashamed of the selfish thought, she asked Franciline to 
give her some aromatic spirits of ammonia. 


288 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 


“You’ll find the bottle on the glass shelf over my 
washstand,” she directed. “There, I feel better,” and 
no doubt she did. Tante Lucia had a clever way of 
trying to get at the cause of “not thinking right,” as she 
called it. She had long ago discovered that we are 
all prone to think very wrong when we are very tired 
or out of condition. 

“How does Madame Conrad seem to you?” she 
asked as Franciline tucked her in under one of the long 
embroidered sheets. 

“Very much improved. She’s different from what 
she used to be. You know that day the little Pierre 
spoke right up in the salle a manger? Well, I was 
attending to Madame Conrad’s sitting-room when she 
came up and she dropped right into a rocking-chair 
and cried like a child. I stayed ’round just for com- 
pany, pretending I was dusting, and after a while, 
when she’d quieted down a little, she said, ‘Franciline, 
Pm an old monster without any heart.’ And then 
she told me how she had just sat still like those other 
two women from Paris when they drank a toast to the 
United States, and how a strange little boy had rushed 
into the room and rebuked them by begging them 
‘please to be so polite as to stand up out of courtesy,* ” 

“Yes, those were his very words,” smiled Tante Lu- 
cia, “and she did stand, Franciline, I remember. I 
saw it all. But her two friends didn’t, and one of 
them gave Pierre an awful shaking.” 

“Oh, yes, we all knew about that. I’d turn them 
out of the house if I were Monsieur, but they are not 


‘‘AND THAT’S THE GLORY OF YOU” 289 


Madame Conrad’s friends now. She went away from 
here the very next day to be rid of them. She told 
me so herself. And she won’t be friendly with them 
now she’s back. You’ll see.” 

Peter had said, “You’ll see,” in a knowing way, and 
now Franciline said, “You’ll see,” in the same way, 
and she very much hoped they were right. With this 
kindly hope, all hoping and thinking were over for 
that night. With one long, deep breath she let her- 
self go and was sound asleep before Franciline left 
the room. 


CHAPTER TWENTIETH 


PIERRE DECIDES 

'As one lamp lights another nor grows less. 

So nobleness enkindleth nobleness. 

— Lowell. 

Y OU’RE glad Mumsey brought me down, aren’t 
you, Peter?” 

“Mumsey! Is that your name for Madame Con- 
rad?” 

“Yes, it’s a kind of English pet name for mother. 
When she sent for me to tell me that Grand’mere 
Sainton had given her permission to bring me back to 
Aix to stay until you sailed, and that I was to come to 
the Grand Hotel here with her, I couldn’t speak just 
at first; but when I could I said, ‘You’re almost kinder, 
I should say, than a real mother,’ and then do you 
know the tears came in her eyes. ‘Do you mean that?’ 
she asked me quickly, and then I shook my head be- 
cause I did mean it. ‘If you do,’ she said, ‘I’d like 
to have you call me Mumsey. That’s what a dear little 
English girl I once knew used to call her mother.’ And, 
do you know, I couldn’t call her Madame Conrad now 
if I tried, any more than I could call you anything but 


290 


PIERRE DECIDES 


291 

Peter. But you haven’t told me yet, are you glad she 
brought me down to Aix?” 

“Do I really need to tell you?” 

“Well, I wanted to be sure, Peter.” 

“Come, now, aren’t you sure?” and Peter gave 
Pierre a look that altogether satisfied his hungry little 
heart. 

Peter and Pierre were seated on two tin chairs in 
the triangle of open space directly opposite the Grand 
Hotel, placed there evidently to allure custom to the 
little booth just beside them, where guidebooks, the 
daily papers and chocolate in many inviting forms were 
for sale. They were waiting for Tante Lucia. That 
she was to be their “first thought” Peter had told 
Pierre at the outset. 

“You see, she felt I stayed up at Chamonix a pretty 
long while,” he had explained. 

“Yes, you did,” Pierre honestly admitted, only too 
glad himself to include Tante Lucia in all plans so far 
as possible. He was beginning to get the better of the 
jealous feeling where Peter was concerned. When 
Peter took him to task that morning they started for 
Mont Blanc, and when, if he had had his way, Helen 
would not have been of the party, Pierre had learned a 
lesson he would remember forever. People we love 
can do almost what they will with us, if they go about 
it the right way. 

Tante Lucia did not keep them waiting very long, 
and when she appeared in the doorway Pierre was 
across the narrow street at a bound to lend a helping 


292 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

hand down the steps. They were not going very far, 
only to the booth next to Hilaire’s in the flower-market. 
They were having a fine time now every afternoon. 
They had formed a sort of reading club, which met 
in the booth. Alexandre arranged the chairs and at 
the proper time every day wheeled down to the booth 
a tea-table set out with an inviting array of good things, 
over which Tante Lucia presided. Madame Conrad 
and Hilaire’s mother were members of the club and 
were always on hand. So was Madame Bovaird, sit- 
ting where she could keep an eye on any prospective 
purchasers or pilferers of her flowers, or Hilaire’s. 
Peter was the president. The beauty of the arrange- 
ment was that it gave them all a daily chance to see 
something of him, which, as he was so soon to go sail- 
ing back to America, they all accounted a great priv- 
ilege. The club had come into existence quite by ac- 
cident. Three or four of them had chanced to meet 
at Hilaire’s booth one morning, and Pierre, who, as a 
rule, was right at Peter’s heels, had happened to re- 
mark apropos of something or other: 

“I like the sound of the name of your country, 
Peter.” 

“Well, that’s very good of you,” Peter had an- 
swered. “I’m so accustomed to it I have never thought 
how it must sound in foreign ears. But I really like 
it pretty well myself. The United States 1 It is a 
great name, and it means a lot.” 

And then Hilaire had joined in and, with a wink at 
Pierre, had asked Peter if he would not tell them just 


PIERRE DECIDES 


293 


what was celebrated by the American Fourth. It took 
no more than that to start him, for Peter was a patriot 
down to his finger tips, and the little company listened 
entranced. 

“Let’s come again to-morrow and have Peter talk 
to us,” urged Pierre, who was nothing if not a planner, 
and the others chimed in so cordially that Peter con- 
sented. 

And so Le Petit Cercle, as they called it, had been 
formed, as vastly superior in their estimation to Le 
Grand Cercle as could well be. It seemed as though 
Madame Bovaird’s knitting needles flew faster than 
ever as she sat and listened, while Hilaire, embroid- 
ering away for dear life on some of the sheerest of 
hemstitched handkerchiefs, would never lift her eyes 
for a minute. Pierre took observations whenever she 
started in with a new handkerchief, but invariably dis- 
covered the same P. A. in blue lettering in the corner, 
which was somewhat dashing to his own hopes. Two 
of their most enjoyable afternoons were devoted to 
the ancient history of Aix itself, for it is a very ancient 
city; its waters were famous as early as 125 B. C. 
Julius Caesar’s proconsul, Domitius, had the first bath 
constructed in the year 628 of the Republic. Peter had 
gotten some historical books together and had read 
far into the night, two nights in succession, in order 
to be able to tell them all about it. Their chief interest 
in this connection centered in the Arc de Campanus, 
for there it still stands in a good state of preserva- 
tion, right in the center of the city, but a short dis- 


294 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

tance from the flower market. At the conclusion of 
its story they all adjourned to have a look at it Most 
of the arches in France celebrate some triumph in war, 
but this one is a monument built in the third or fourth 
century by Lucius Pompeius Campanus in honor of his 
family. The names — thirteen of them — are carved 
in the architrave. His paternal grandfather and his 
maternal grandmother are there, so it would seem that 
Lucius Pompeius had some preferences in the matter 
of his grandparents. Then follow the names of a 
brother and sister, and two friends, whom he evidently 
delighted to honor. Seventh in the list they discovered 
the name of a paternal aunt, Pompeia Lucia Secondina. 
Tante Lucia was quite excited. 

“I think he must have been a fine fellow, this Lucius 
Pompeius,’’ she said earnestly, “to remember his aunt 
on this great arch; even very nice and useful aunts are 
not taken much account of in some families. Who 
knows but she was an ancester of mine — our family 
seems to have been in Aix forever — and that her name 
has come down to me?” 

“Not at all unlikely,” and Peter spoke in a serious 
way that pleased Tante Lucia immensely. “But if she 
was Lucia Secondina in the third century, whatever 
number must you be in the twentieth? But speaking 
of aunts, and really I have known two or three rather 
horrid ones in my day, there are some aunts that every- 
body loves. You can’t complain of not being taken 
much account of, now, can you?” And Tante Lucia’s 
smile, which had the loveliest way of saying everything 


PIERRE DECIDES 


295 

under the sun, admitted that indeed she did have noth- 
ing to complain of. 

After a full half hour spent in prowling about and 
inspecting the wonderful arch, they strolled back to 
the booth for cakes and tea, and then Tante Lucia, 
feeling unusually energetic for some reason, proposed 
a walk along the fine road that leads out to Marlioz. 
Madame Conrad and Peter and Pierre volunteered to 
accompany her. 

“Well, then, we’ll have two little victorias to give 
us a good start by taking us up the hill,” said Peter. 

As those same little victorias stand ready to one’s 
bidding everywhere in Aix, they had made their good 
start in no time at all, Peter and Tante Lucia in one 
and Madame Conrad and Pierre in the other. Hilaire 
looked after them wistfully as they drove away, and 
then turned with a sigh to wait on some customers at 
the booth. A half hour or so later a lady and gentle- 
man strolling through the market stopped to admire 
her arrangement of cyclamen, and ended by buying 
every bunch she had of it and a large basketful of loose 
flowers besides. 

“We are going to take them up to the people at the 
Asile Lvangelique,” the lady explained, as Hilaire 
handed her the change. 

“Oh, then will you please take all the rest, too?” 
urged Hilaire. “I am going to close now for the 
night. We always send” — nodding her head in the 
direction of Madame Bovaird — “all the flowers that 
are not sold up to the Asile,” and deftly gathering the 


296 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

few flowers remaining into a bouquet, she placed them 
in the gentleman’s hand. “You might say with Hi- 
laire’s love,” she added, and was altogether so naive 
and charming that she quite won their hearts. They 
stood watching her, admiring the expedition with which 
she emptied the water from the bowls and then neatly 
stacked them on the shelves of the little closet. When 
everything was stowed away she turned the key in the 
closet, and, with a to Madame Bovaird and 

the strangers, started to leave the booth. 

“If you are going our way, will you not walk with 
us?” asked the lady, with a tone of entreaty in her 
voice. 

“With pleasure,” and Hilaire, blushing a little be- 
cause she was conscious of their undisguised approval, 
insisted upon carrying a share of the flowers. 

“Have you been in Aix before?” Hilaire asked 
timidly. 

“Never, and we are here now only for a day or two,” 
said the lady. “We came on Saturday and yesterday 
we went up to service at the little Chapel up the hill 
here. It is blue Presbyterian, is it not? Even the pul- 
pit cloth and the draperies seemed to us the most ag- 
gressive blue we had ever seen.” Hilaire laughed. 
She knew the blue. “And as we came out we talked 
with the sexton and he told us about some of the old 
sick people in the Asile next door. So we thought it 
would be a good idea to leave a few flowers for them 
before we go away to-morrow.” 

“Not many people who come to Aix are so thought- 


PIERRE DECIDES 


297 

ful,” Hilaire answered warmly. And now it was the 
lady’s turn to blush, for Hilaire, from the moment she 
had first spoken, had thought she had never met any 
one quite so adorable. 

“You are Americans, aren’t you?” she asked. 

“Yes, and, although we love England, we are glad 
never to be mistaken for English. We love our own 
country, but we are charmed by yours, by this corner of 
it at any rate.” 

“It is very beautiful,” Hilaire said proudly. “Will 
you come back some day?” 

“Oh, yes, surely I hope so. Next summer, perhaps. 
Shall we find you in the flower market?” 

“No doubt you will. I like to do something to help 
my father and mother.” 

“There couldn’t be anything lovelier to do, it seems 
to me, than arranging flowers with such exquisite taste.” 

“I do something else besides; something that you 
will think lovely, too, perhaps. I embroider,” with the 
air of one who knew her work would bear examination. 
“Here is a handkerchief I am just finishing,” and 
Hilaire opened the workbag swinging in her hand. 

The lady gave a little start. 

“Those are the initials of an old friend of ours, 
Doctor Alwyn, who comes to Aix every summer,” she 
said. 

“They are for Dr. Alwyn,” Hilaire replied exult- 
ingly, “but they’re not an order. They’re a present.” 

“Is Dr. Alwyn here?” exclaimed the gentleman. 


298 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“They told us at our hotel that he had gone to Chamo- 
nix.” 

“He was at Chamonix for a month, but he came back 
some time ago. He’s out for a walk now with some 
friends, and I’m on the way to meet them. Won’t 
you come with me?” and her invitation was accepted 
only too gladly. 

“Let us take a carriage,” the gentleman suggested, 
“and drive until we meet your friends. We’ll gain 
time that way.” So another victoria was summoned 
and the gentleman mounted to the box beside the driver, 
leaving Hilaire and his wife seated comfortably side 
by side on the back seat. They stopped for a moment 
to leave the flowers at the door of the Asile Lvan- 
gelique, and then climbing the hill were soon enjoying 
the beautiful view from the Boulevard de la Roche du 
Roi. And as they drove Hilaire told something of the 
happenings of the summer, explaining about Tante 
Lucia and Madame Conrad and Pierre, so that her 
new friends should have some knowledge of the peo- 
ple they were going to meet. 

“Did Peter know you were coming to Aix?” she 
asked in the course of conversation. 

“You mean Dr. Alwyn.” 

“Yes, he won’t let us call him anything but Peter. 
I think any one Is lucky who has him for a friend, 
don’t you?” 

“Very.” 

“And I think he is very lucky to have you for a 


PIERRE DECIDES 


299 

friend. But you did not tell me whether he knows 
you were coming to Aix.” 

“He does not even know we are in Europe.” 

“It will be a glad surprise for him, won’t it?” 

“I shouldn’t wonder.” 

“There he is now, looking off across the valley, and 
that’s Pierre, close beside him as usual, and yonder 
come Madame Conrad and Tante Lucia, walking 
slowly, and ” but Hilaire’s sentence was never fin- 

ished. 

At that moment two great touring-cars swept round 
the curve of the road together. One of them, veering 
far to the outer edge to avoid colliding, struck Tante 
Lucia and flung her with great force against an iron 
railing. Madame Conrad was also knocked down, but 
was quickly on her feet again, bending over Tante 
Lucia. The two cars were racing wildly, apparently 
oblivious of everything and everybody, and nothing but 
the greatest skill on the part of their coachman got the 
victoria in which Hilaire and her new friends were 
driving out of the way in time. But an accident sooner 
or later was inevitable, and a hundred yards further on 
the two wild cars crumpled together in an indistin- 
guishable mass. 

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Madame Conrad whis- 
pered to Tante Lucia, and then hurried to the scene 
of the accident. Hilaire and Pierre were already 
there. 

In a moment a crowd had gathered and Peter, know- 
ing just what should be done and how to do it, was 


300 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

giving orders right and left. Several men under his 
direction were trying to extricate the occupants of the 
cars. They were six in number, including the two chauf- 
feurs, both of whom had been killed instantly. The 
others were women, one of whom was dead, the other 
three unconscious. The accident had happened in 
front of the Chateau de la Roche du Roi, which hap- 
pily was tenantless that summer. Its caretaker was 
among those who were first on the scene of the acci- 
dent. 

“Hadn’t they best be moved into the Chateau, sir?” 
he asked, for every one recognized Peter as master of 
the situation. “The house is not rented this summer.” 

“Oh, thank you, yes ; that’s just the thing. First the 
old lady up the road yonder. Let’s see what we can 
do for a litter. Four of you fellows follow me,” and, 
rushing into the Chateau, it was the work of a second 
for Peter with the help of the men to rip the uphol- 
stered cushion from a couch in the first room they 
entered. In another second they were beside Tante 
Lucia. She was lying with her head in some one’s lap. 
“Who can it be?” wondered Peter, and that second 
the some one looked up. 

“My stars! Mary Harter, where did you come 
from?” But Peter did not wait for her answer. 
“This is Tante Lucia, you see to her, Mary. She’s 
the dearest old lady this side of Heaven. I’m needed 
down yonder,” whereupon Tante Lucia looked up 
anxiously. 

“Is any one hurt besides me?” she asked. 


PIERRE DECIDES 


301 


“Fm afraid so.’’ 

“Oh! then let me go help,” but Tante Lucia found 
she could not move. 

“You go, dear,” she said, as though she had merely 
changed her mind, but the lady shook her head. 

“My orders are to stay with you, and now we are 
going to carry you to the house,” and then she mo- 
tioned to the men to lift her on to the Improvised 
stretcher. Tante Lucia recognized one of them as the 
caretaker of the Chateau. 

“What are you going to do with me, Jean?” she 
asked. 

“Going to take you to the finest room In the house.” 

“Why not back to the hotel?” 

“Because the Chateau Is nearer, Madame.” 

“I wouldn’t make the effort to talk any more. If I 
were you, Tante Lucia,” said her new attendant kindly. 

“Just as you say, Mary — Harter,” with a little smile 
of satisfaction that she had caught the English name. 
And Mary Harter stood stock-still and looked straight 
into Tante Lucia’s eyes. 

“Peter was perfectly right,” she said solemnly, 
whereupon Tante Lucia smiled again. It was nice 
to have two adorable people think her the dearest old 
lady this side of Heaven. 

The men bore her through a gate at the foot of the 
beautiful garden of the Chateau, that she might not 
have so much as a glimpse of the horrors In front of 
It, and literally to the finest room In the house. Then, 
lifting her with the greatest tenderness on to a bed 


302 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

hung with silken draperies, they left her to the lady’s 
care. 

“And now what can I do, I wonder, to make you 
more comfortable. Strangely enough, you look none 
the worse for your fall. Your beautiful cap is not 
even disarranged.” 

“And I feel none the worse, because — shall I tell 
you why? — ^because I don’t feel at all. I think I know 
what has happened. Something that often happens 
to old ladies who haven’t the excuse of a fall. I think 
I am paralyzed.” 

“Well, I’m not going to think that for a minute,” 
said Mary Harter, astonished at Tante Lucia’s per- 
fect calmness. “You’re just suffering from shock, as 
we say in English. Wait till Peter comes.” 

“Is Peter with the other people who are hurt?” 

“Yes.” 

“Were they knocked down by the cars, too?” 

“They were in the cars.” 

“In the cars! Then I know who two of them are. 
Are they badly hurt?” 

“I’m afraid they are.” 

“I thought I saw Hilaire for a moment, though we 
left her in the flower-market.” 

“Yes, you did see her. She was in the carriage with 
us. We were coming up to meet you all, and we es- 
caped by a miracle from being run down too.” 

“We would never have had automobiles in Aix if I 
could have had my way,” and then, looking steadily 


PIERRE DECIDES 


303 

at Mary Harter, she asked, “And are you an old friend 
of Peter’s, too?” 

“Yes, quite an old friend.” 

“And you love him as much as all the rest of us, 
I suppose?” 

“I shouldn’t wonder.” 

“And your name is Mary Harter?” 

“Yes. My husband and I came abroad very unex- 
pectedly, so it was not strange Dr. Alwyn was surprised 
to see me.” 

“Peter seemed to say your name as though he was 
very glad to be surprised.” 

“And he said yours as though he was perfectly de- 
voted to you.” 

“Yes, he is fond of me,” with a delicious com- 
placence. “I think I will call you Mary Harter, too, 
if you don’t mind.” 

“I should love it, Xante Lucia,” but she gave a little 
shudder as she spoke, for, rising to draw down a blind, 
she had caught a glimpse through an open window of 
the gruesome work going on in the road. Xante Lucia 
was quick to detect it. 

“I am afraid some one has been killed.” 

“I am afraid so, too.” 

“More than one?” 

“Yes, more than one,” for there was that about 
Xante Lucia that compelled the truth. 

“Perhaps they need you.” 

“I’m afraid Peter would send me back. I am in- 
terested in a hospital in New York, where he is in 


304 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

charge, and he once saw me faint at a very little thing 
indeed. Besides I have his orders to stay with you.” 

So Tante Lucia accepted the situation and Mary 
Harter talked on about one commonplace thing and 
another, trying to conceal the fact that she was really 
a-tremble from head to foot, but there was little that 
ever #"scaped Tante Lucia. 

“Will you pull up that blind, dear?” she asked, 
pointing to a window. “It opens on the garden, not 
on the road.” Mary Harter did as she was bid. “Do 
you see an iron cross far away on the mountain?” 

“Why, yes, I do. Isn’t it wonderful.” 

“Oh, yes, it is wonderful. It was put there fifty 
years ago by Comte de Fernex, and everywhere you 
go for miles and miles you can see it. I can see it, 
too, from my little room under the pergola in our ho- 
tel, and whenever things seem to be going all wrong 
down here in Aix, or when there is just too much to 
bear, I look and look and look at it and never take my 
eyes away till, first thing I know, I am calmed through 
and through and can face right about and meet any- 
thing.” 

“I can understand,” Mary said softly, gazing at it. 
“It is the most wonderful symbol in all the world,” 
and Tante Lucia could see that she had stopped trem- 
bling, as though she, too, was being calmed through 
and through by not taking her eyes away. 

Just then some one opened the door a crack, and 
then stepped in. It was Pierre, white as a sheet. 

“I have been looking all over the place for you,” 


PIERRE DECIDES 


305 

he said In a choky little voice. “I came In just to rest 
a few minutes, Xante Lucia.’’ 

“You dear child, you are tired. Take the big chair 
by the window. You can see my old friend from 
there.” 

Pierre dropped Into the chair like lead, and looked 
off to the great cross. He knew all It meant to Xante 
Lucia. No one ever came very far Into her life with- 
out knowing. But, while Pierre’s heavy eyes rested 
dreamily on the cross, Xante Lucia whispered to Mary: 

“He does not look right. You would best go for 
Peter,” and Mary hurried from the room. Even If 
her errand should take her Into the midst of all that 
was most gruesome, she knew she had nerve for It 
now. On the stairway she met Peter and he took both 
her hands In his. 

“Just to make sure that It Is really you,” he said. 

“It Is good to see you, Peter,” Mary made answer, 
and then added anxiously as she led the way to the 
room, “I’m afraid your little Pierre Is 111.” 

Peter was Instantly at his side, but saw at a glance 
that there was no need of anxiety for his little Pierre. 
Relaxed from the crown of his bowed head to the 
soles of his begrimed, tired feet, Pierre was sound 
asleep. And now at last Peter was able to turn his 
attention to Xante Lucia, but she would have none of 
him until he had made himself comfortable, for of all 
the weary men she had ever seen he was the most ex- 
hausted. 


3o6 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“Could I do anything for you, Peter?” said Mary, 
for she, too, was impressed with his great fatigue. 

“Yes, you could, Mary Harter,” Tante Lucia an- 
swered quickly. “I happen to know that there is some 
rare old Madeira in the cellars of this house. Go tell 
Jean, please, that I would like some of it brought to the 
Doctor, here in the red room right away,” and Mary 
was off in a flash. She hardly heard Peter call after 
her, “Everything dreadful is out of the way,” for he 
remembered the afternoon at the hospital. 

“And now I must know what has happened, Peter,” 
Tante Lucia said firmly. “Who have been killed?” 

“The chauffeurs of both cars and Pierre’s friend 
from our hotel.” 

“Oh, Peter!” 

“Yes, Tante Lucia. She was thrown clear of the 
cars over into a field, but her head struck a stone and 
she was killed instantly. Her companion was very 
badly hurt, and after we had attended to her, and the 
women in the other car — ^both of them unconscious — 
I had the men bring the stretcher over into the field. 
I did not notice that Pierre was following, but first 
thing I knew I saw him picking up some little coins and 
other belongings of the woman’s that had flown out of 
an open bag she still held firmly clasped and knotting 
them into his handkerchief. Then as we carried her 
along on the stretcher — he was walking beside me, one 
hand outstretched to steady it — he whispered: ‘I will 
take good care of them till we find out who to give 
them to.’ ” 


PIERRE DECIDES 


307 


“Then that is what he has in his hand still I Bless 
his heart!” said Tante Lucia, smiling through her 
tears. And, sure enough, the only unrelaxed muscles 
of the tired little body in the great chair still gripped 
the knotted handkerchief. Mary Harter crossed the 
room, and gently loosing Pierre’s hold, slipped the 
handkerchief with its contents into a drawer. 

“And now about you, you old dear,” said Peter, set- 
tling back heavily in his chair. “It’s wonderful you 
should have escaped in this fashion. Your guardian 
angel must have been right at your very elbow.” 

“Not this time, Peter.” 

“What do you mean? You’re not hurt any way 
you’re not telling me about, are you?” 

Tante Lucia said never a word. She just looked 
at Mary Harter, who had come into the room with a 
tray and was standing beside Peter while he drained 
the glass that she had filled. 

“Here is a glass for you too,” Mary Harter said, 
pretending not to see the look, “and I’m going to have 
one myself.” But Tante Lucia still looked at Mary 
with an appeal that was not to be withstood. 

“Tante Lucia has told me, Peter,” and, to hide her 
emotion, Mary carried the tray to a side-table, “that 
she thinks her left side is paralyzed.” 

“Mon Dieu 1” said Peter, clutching the arms of his 
chair. 

“And mine, Peter,” said Tante Lucia softly. 

And then Peter, resting one arm on the bed, buried 
his face against it for a moment, while his right hand 


3o8 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

closed over Tante Lucia’s as it lay upon the spread. 
If he was about to discover that she was, indeed, para- 
lyzed, it seemed to him in his utter exhaustion just the 
one thing too much. Mary Harter moved to the other 
side of the bed, and Tante Lucia looking up said 
softly: 

“It’s great to have him care so much, Mary Har- 
ter.” 

“Yes, he knows how to care,” Mary answered. 

Although the words were not spoken to him, Peter, 
of course, heard. They seemed to put new heart into 
him. At any rate, he straightened himself up in a way 
which meant, “It only takes a second, you see, for a 
fellow to pull himself together.” Then, leaning back 
in his chair, with his hands comfortably behind his 
head, he said, with all the unconcern he could summon ; 

“I’m not going to believe all this you tell me, Tante 
Lucia, for a minute.” 

“I wouldn’t,” she said, matching his unconcern. 
“What’s the use?” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIRST 


THE OTHER ONE 


It is very good for strength 
To know that someone needs you to he strong. 

— E. B. Browning. 


B ut Peter had to believe it. Of course, Tante 
Lucia knew perfectly well that he would. If it 
seems past reason that anybody could face the prospect 
of probably never taking another step as Tante Lucia 
faced it, there is only one reply, miracles do happen. 
She was an old lady. Her heart was not set on living 
forever, though she loved life. Rather was it set on 
seeing what the other world was like before she should 
become a care to anybody in this one. When she first 
made the discovery that she was probably paralyzed 
she had bravely accepted the situation; but a little later 
on, when it flashed over her that she was likely to be- 
come the one thing she dreaded — a burden — her heart 
had utterly failed her. 

“Did you notice,” she said to Mary Harter several 
days afterward, “anything queer about me soon after 
they carried me up to the Chateau on the stretcher?” • 
“Yes, I did, Tante Lucia. You closed your eyes for 
309 


310 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

what seemed a long, long time, and after a time a 
strange, determined look came over your face.’* 

“It frightened you a little, didn’t it, dear? I don’t 
wonder. It had just come over me that I was going 
to be helpless and a burden, and I was gritting my 
teeth in despair, for that was the one thing I had told 
the Lord I would not be. And then in a moment every- 
thing changed.” 

“Yes, I saw that, too, and was so thankful.” 

“But you did not know what happened?” 

Mary shook her head. 

“This is what happened. The second I opened my 
eyes the cross on Mt. Revard shone full in them. 
It does shine for me, Mary Harter, and it gave me 
strength to make a great resolve then and there, and 
I said, Tf I am to have an iron cross all my own I 
accept it’ ” 

“Oh, was that it?” Mary screened her eyes for a 
moment with her hand, and Tante Lucia knew that 
Mary Harter knew she had been permitted to look 
in for a moment on something very sacred. So that 
was the secret of the miracle; only about one thing 
Tante Lucia was happily mistaken. The day had not 
come for her to be a burden. On the contrary, the 
Chateau de la Roche du Roi having become a hospital, 
Tante Lucia from her room ruled it like a queen. 

Pierre’s enemy had been instantly killed, as you 
know. Madame Renard, the friend of his enemy, 
strange to say, had been rendered helpless in exactly 
the same way as Tante Lucia, but she did not take it in 


THE OTHER ONE 


311 

the same way. She had been carried at first to the 
room directly opposite, but she was so bitter over the 
death of her companion and so audibly rebellious over 
her own helplessness that they had to move her to an- 
other part of the Chateau for fear of distressing Tante 
Lucia, and had to keep her under anodynes much of 
the time. 

Madame Conrad, who had been very brave and 
useful at first, had had to give up and go to bed finally 
and be cared for for a while like the rest. So there 
were three patients in the Chateau de la Roche du Roi 
(the other woman who was hurt having been moved to 
her hotel the day after the accident) and five people to 
look after them : two trained nurses, always easy to se- 
cure in Aix because of the many invalids who come for 
the baths; Hilaire, whom Peter had allowed to con- 
stitute herself a nurse’s assistant; Peter himself; and 
Pierre, who ran on innumerable errands and sat an 
hour at a time at the bedside of Tante Lucia and 
Madame Conrad. The first thing Hilaire did was to 
bring the blue vases from Tante Lucia’s room at the 
hotel, to make the new quarters seem more homelike, 
only now they were filled with fresh flowers every day. 
Pierrot, following Hilaire the day she moved from the 
cottage to the Chateau and begging to be allowed to 
stay, had had his way. He had insisted upon sharing 
every meal sent up, either to Tante Lucia or Madame 
Conrad, and added much to the enjoyment thereof. 

The proprietors of the Grand Hotel, eager to do 
all in their power for Tante Lucia, who was a real 


312 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

aunt to them, had asked to be allowed to supply the 
service for the Chateau, and had sent up one of their 
best chefs, together with Alexandre and Franciline, 
these last at their own earnest request that they be the 
ones chosen. Hilaire and Pierre and Peter also had 
taken up their abode at the Chateau, so that, with the 
exception of their Friend the Enemy, they were a house- 
hold of devoted friends. Madame Bovaird, caring for 
Hilaire’s booth in the flower market as well as her 
own, was halving the profits and bringing most of the 
left-over flowers up to the Chateau nightly with her 
own hands. The old people and the sick people at the 
Asile Evangelique knew why they were being neglected 
and did not mind. Mary Harter, to the sorrow of 
every one, had had to take her departure three days 
after the accident, but three days had sufficed to admit 
her into the inner circle of devoted friends. 

“You’ll have to be going soon, too, won’t you, 
Peter?” Pierre said one day, when they had been talk- 
ing of how much they missed Mary Harter as they sat 
together on one of the iron benches in the beautiful 
garden of the Chateau. “It’s only a week now.” 

“Shall you mind, Pierre?” 

“I shall die, Peter,” for that’s fervent French as well 
as English. 

“So bad as that?” 

“It would be a little easier, perhaps, if you were 
not so good looking.” 

“Shut up,” growled Peter. The words were new to 


THE OTHER ONE 


313 

Pierre, but, of course, he could guess at their meaning. 
He simply frowned, however, and paid no heed. 

“One of the nicest things about you is your back, 
and the way your head is set on your shoulders.” Peter 
burst into a fit of laughter. “I guess I know,” Pierre 
went on, not at all disturbed, “I ought to ; Fve followed 
you ’round enough.” 

“Thanks awfully. One knows almost nothing about 
one’s own back. But I’ve a good mind to own I like 
the look of yours, too, Pierre, and when you ‘turn it 
on me,’ as we say, I watch you out of sight almost 
always.” Whereupon Pierre beamed with sheer de- 
light. 

“I’m sorry for awful homely people, aren’t you, 
Peter?” with an amusing complacency. 

“Sorriest for myself most of all. Homely people 
are under a tremendous nervous strain trying to pre- 
tend they don’t know all the uncomplimentary things 
people are thinking about them.” 

“Peter, you make me tired,” falling proudly back 
on English, as he did every time he could recall a phrase 
that just suited. 

“Well, you make me anything but tired,” turning 
the tables on Pierre. “Quite the other way, in fact. 
You seem to brace me up every time we’re together.” 

“I braise — ^you up?” in utter astonishment, and with 
the prettiest French accent. “I would like to know 
how!” 

“By just caring for me.” 

“But everybody cares for you, Peter. All of us 


314 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

who know you here in Aix and at Chamonix ; and then 
some one comes along from way over the ocean, like 
Mary Harter, and we find she cares too. And she tells 
us of a lot of other people in America, more than she 
can count, she says, who worship,” Pierre paused to 
recall the exact words, “who worship the very ground 
you tread on.” 

“Everybody has friends, of course, but for some of 
us a great loneliness so often lies in wait. Usually 
when we are dead tired, which is taking rather an un- 
fair advantage of a fellow, it seems to me.” 

“I’ve noticed when you’ve been lonely, Peter, and 
sometimes I’ve tried to cheer you up, but I’ve always 
felt perhaps it couldn’t be helped.” 

Peter looked earnestly at Pierre for a minute. What 
was there about this little country-bred French boy 
that made him such a discerner of the human heart? 

“Those times would be less lonely, Pierre, if I could 
have you around all the while. I’m thinking.” 

“If I only could be around,” and Pierre sat with 
folded arms and knitted brow, exactly as he had so 
often sat opposite the statue at Chamonix. He was 
wondering if Peter meant, perhaps, he would like to 
take him to America. Oh, how his heart leapt at the 
thought, and then his face reddened over such seeming 
disloyalty to his faithful old grandparents. 

“I guess it’s as good a time as any to tell you,” said 
Peter, by way of changing the subject, “that I’ve post- 
poned sailing.” And Pierre instantly had his arms 
about his neck in a grip of strangling joy. “If you’ll 


THE OTHER ONE 


315 

stop choking me,” Peter spluttered, “I’ll tell you the 
rest.” Whereupon Pierre decorously resumed his seat. 
“Pm not going for a month. I ought to start a week 
earlier, but as I have to break my engagement to cross 
the ocean with my old friend David on his next trip, 
I must just wait till he’s made his round voyage and 
is headed for the States again.” 

“Are you staying because of the accident?” 

“Yes, I am. Madame Renard still needs to be 
looked after pretty carefully, and I’m not perfectly 
sure yet how things are going to fare with Tante Lucia. 
So some operations they’re expecting me home for in 
New York will have to wait a while.” 

“I suppose I’ll have to go back, all the same, to 
Chamonix the day I’m expected,” sighed Pierre, but he 
looked as though he thought it would be expecting the 
impossible. 

“Pierre, I have an idea! Listen! There are a lot 
of unused rooms here in the Chateau, you know.” 

Pierre nodded. 

“Well, I’m going to send for the Saintons and Helen 
and Colette and the Cure to come make us a visit. 
The Cure must be able to travel by this time.” 

“But the shop, Peter!” Pierre fairly screeched, in an 
agony of foreboding. “They’ll have to have me for 
the shop !” 

“Never you fear. They’ve got to come and you’ve 
got to stay; we’ll fix it somehow.” And, having un- 
bounded confidence in Peter’s ability to fix anything 
under the sun, Pierre calmed down, 


3i6 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“It’s a splendid plan, Peter. It will be great fun to 
take Helen around Aix and show her the sights. And 
Grand-pere and Grand’mere Sainton will be astonished 
at everything. Whatever will they think of the Grand 
Cercle and the Villa des Fleurs? It would be like 
Grand’mere Sainton to say what she thinks right out to 
the people who play at the tables.” 

“And we’ll go on trips,” said Peter, with the eager- 
ness of a child. “We’ll sail across the lake and visit 
Hautecombe Abbey, and the Cure will be wild with 
delight, because it was founded by his patron saint. 
And one day we’ll drive to Chambery, where we’ll pay 
a visit to the Chateau of the Dukes of Savoy and the 
house where Rousseau lived; and before we start for 
home we’ll fit out the whole party with Chambery 
gloves enough to last us all for a year. And we’ll 
take the wonderful drive up the Dent du Chat and have 
tea up there, and everywhere we go Hilaire shall go, 
too, and we’ll see to it that our patients here in the 
Chateau shall not be neglected, either. The only hard 
thing will be leaving Tante Lucia behind.” 

“What will you do when you have to leave her for 
good?” Pierre questioned ruefully. 

“Take her with me.” 

“Honest?” 

“No, not honest; but I wish I could!” 

“Why couldn’t you?” 

“She would hardly go to a strange country at her 
age. 

“Oh, yes, I think she would, with you. It isn’t 


THE OTHER ONE 


317 


exactly as though she had a regular home of her own. 
And you’re more to everybody than anybody else, any- 
way I” 

Peter hardly heard this last sweeping remark. 

“You’ve set me thinking, as usual, Pierre,” he said. 

“It would just be heaven to Tante Lucia,” and a little 
sigh told Peter what a heaven it would certainly be, if 
it were any way possible, to someone else. “I’ve got to 
go now,” he added, with another sigh, and, taking out 
his watch, he seemed to be making as careful calcula- 
tions as Peter himself, planning a round of visits. 
“Mumsey expects me at ten, and after that do you 
know what I think I’ll do? I believe I’ll go in and 
talk with The Other One for a while,” which was 
Pierre’s only name for Madame Renard, who had been 
the companion of his arch enemy. 

“Do,” urged Peter, “she isn’t half bad, and I’d like 
to know how she strikes you.” 

So Pierre made his visit to Mumsey and told her 
everything he could think of that would interest her; 
of Peter’s great plan to invite the whole crowd down 
from Chamonix; and how he hoped she would get 
strong in time to take some of the trips with them — 
all of which proved quite a tonic, and made Madame 
Conrad resolve that get nerves in hand she would and 
really be strong enough in time, as Pierre hoped. 

“And now, Mumsey, I’m going to see The Other 
One,” he explained. 

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that, Pierre. I sat with 
Madame Renard a while yesterday when I was feeling 


3i8 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

better than I do to-day, and she said she wished she 
knew you.” 

“That settles it, then.” 

He paused at the threshold of The Other One’s 
door. 

“May I come in?” he asked. 

^^Certainement. Pd very much like to have you.” 

“Mumsey told me just now,” he said, drawing up a 
rocking-chair, “that you said you would like to know 
me, but I was coming before that, because I thought I 
would like to know you. Of course, I do know you 
in a way, because of that time in the salle a manger of 
the Grand Hotel and that other time in the garden of 
the Grand Cercle.” Whereupon they both colored up 
in no uncertain fashion. “Pm sorry you lost your 
friend,” and Pierre’s eyes grew perceptibly misty, “in 
such a terrible way,” he added. “But I’m so thankful 
you were not killed.” 

Madame Renard looked at Pierre very closely, but 
the ring of perfect sincerity was in his words and she 
knew that he was really thankful, though why he should 
be she could not imagine. 

“I had a very narrow escape,” she said. “I don’t 
believe I’d be alive to-day but for the prompt care 
your doctor friend gave me.” 

“No, you wouldn’t,” Pierre replied in the most mat- 
ter of fact way. “You looked as dead as could be. 
I saw you,” and Pierre shuddered at the memory. 
“But we mustn’t talk about it any more. Peter wouldn’t 
like it, only I must tell you this: A little bag your 


THE OTHER ONE 


319 


friend had in her hand had flown open and I picked up 
quite a lot of money and some little things, all I could 
find, and tied them in a handkerchief, just as I did 
that other time; but I haven’t thought of them from 
that day to this. I don’t know what became of them.” 

“I do. They brought them to me the other day. 
That was one reason I wanted to know you and tell 
you how kind I thought you were.” 

“We mustn’t talk about it any more,” said Pierre, 
suddenly realizing that they were not succeeding in 
changing the subject. 

“Well, then, we won’t, only you must just open that 
upper drawer over there and you’ll find your hand- 
kerchief, the one you used the first time, with the beau- 
tiful embroidered initials, all nicely done up and lying 
right on top.” 

“Oh, thank you!” he cried, overjoyed at its recov- 
ery. “It was the prettiest one Hilaire ever made for 
me, but I never expected to have it back,” and he thrust 
it deep into his trousers pocket as though half afraid 
it might again escape him. “It was pretty tough to 
have her shake me like that,” he said after a moment’s 
meditation, for the handkerchief had brought back all 
the memories of that afternoon very keenly. 

“She felt very much ashamed of it.” 

“It was still more of a shame for both of you to sit 
still afterward when every one else was polite enough 
to stand.” 

“Yes, it was. We were both ashamed of that too.” 

“We don’t seem to get talking about the right things. 


320 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

do we?” Pierre’s distress was just as real as his thank- 
fulness of a few moments before. It was this crys- 
talline simplicity and transparency that made such 
friends for Pierre of every one, completely offsetting his 
sometimes embarrassing frankness that was really all 
one with the transparency. 

“I’ve heard quite a little about you from Madame 
Conrad,” said Madame Renard, by way of changing 
the subject. 

“Oh, yes,” said Pierre, “Mumsey and I are great 
friends now.” 

“Mumsey?” 

“Didn’t you know that’s my name for her? It’s a 
kind of English pet name for mother. Don’t you think 
she’s rather motherly and very much improved?’* 

“Improved?” 

“Why, yes. She grew awful tired of staying at the 
Grand Hotel sitting ’round watching people sip cor- 
dials and smoke cigarettes.” 

“She used to do it,” said Madame Renard in self- 
defense. 

“I know she did, but she wouldn’t do it now. That’s 
how I mean improved.” 

“What do you think improved her?” 

“Knowing us,” said Pierre, with all the self-satis- 
faction imaginable. “We don’t like that sort of thing 
at all. You see, she came up to Chamonix and that’s 
how it happened.” 

“Whom do you mean by us and how many are there 
of you?” 


THE OTHER ONE 


321 


“I have never thought how many. She knew me 
first, because, you know, I found her pendant after it 
had been lying up on the Mer de Glace trail a whole 
year, and took it to her. She’s told you about it?” 
Madame Renard indicated that she had. “Then next 
she knew all the rest in a bunch. She had a party, a 
great party, Grand-pere and Grand’mere Sainton, and 
Peter and the Cure, and Colette’s mother — you know 
about Colette?” 

Madame Renard had heard about Colette, but she 
merely said: 

“Invited people whom shie did not know to a party?” 
For the longer she could keep Pierre running on, the 
better. 

“Why, yes, that was the very reason she asked 
them. She wanted to know them, because I had told 
her about them. You know several of us now, don’t 
you?” 

“Yes, three or four — you and Hilaire and the Doc- 
tor. Perhaps I’ll improve.” 

“Perhaps,” said Pierre, but as though he considered 
her rather a doubtful case. “And some of the rest 
are coming here to the Chateau. Peter’s going to in- 
vite them.” 

“Tell me about them,” begged Madame Renard. 
So Pierre, nothing loath, launched forth, giving life- 
histories as far as he knew them, and then going into 
all the details of Madame Conrad’s party, of the Mont 
Blanc experience, and the great welcome home to Cha- 
monix. She had heard more or less about all this from 


322 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

Madame Conrad, but it was quite a different thing to 
have Pierre tell it, and she found the way of telling 
very entertaining. Finally, some question of hers sug- 
gested Tante Lucia, and then you may believe Pierre 
grew eloquent, enlarging upon all her virtues and 
winding up by saying: 

“Now that she’s had this accident she is really finer 
than ever. You know she’s never going to walk again. 
She knows it, too, but she’s patient and sweet every 
minute.” 

“Does she ever scold about me? She must hate 
me. 

“Tante Lucia? She never scolds about anything, and 
I don’t believe she hates anybody.” 

“She would hate me, if she knew. I’m going to 
tell you something. It will be a comfort to tell some- 
body, for it lies very heavy on my conscience. I really 
killed all those people. I urged the chauffeur on and 
on, and, more than that, I ordered him not to let the 
other car get ahead.” And Madame Renard covered 
her face with her hands. “I have always loved rac- 
ing as much as I have loved playing in the Grand 
Cercle.” 

Pierre sat staring at her, the embodiment of sur- 
prise and pity, and she saw the look and shrank from 
it. Finally he spoke. 

“You won’t have any use for those things ever again, 
will you?” 

“Oh, I hope not I I hope not I” 


THE OTHER ONE 


3^3 

“You mean perhaps you will?” with shocked in- 
credulity. 

“I can’t tell I When you’ve loved a thing so much !” 

“Well, then, I’d try loving something else instead,” 
giving better advice than he knew. 

Just at that moment Hilaire’s voice rang out from 
somewhere below: 

“Tante Lucia wants Pierre, tout de suited* Pierre 
fairly gasped as he looked at his watch. 

“It’s twelve o’clock, and I promised not to be a 
minute later than eleven. Tante Lucia had promised 
to tell me all about the iron cross; when they put it 
on the mountain, and everything.” 

“She’ll forgive you. I’m sure. She’s the kind that 
forgives. I wish I was more like her.” 

Pierre looked steadily at Madame Renard. Then, 
prompted by some forgiving impulse of his own, he 
took her hand in both his for a second, caught a glimpse 
of tears in her hard gray eyes, and was gone. A very 
penitent Pierre climbed on to the window-seat beside 
Tante Lucia’s bed. 

“The reason I’m so late is because I forgot. I 
went in to see The Other One for a few minutes and 
I stayed ever so long. She was to blame a little. 
Whenever I came to the end of what I was telling, she 
asked a question that seemed to take a long time to 
answer. And she told me a dreadful thing: she says 
she really killed all those people! She ordered her 
chauffeur not to let the other car pass. She says it lies 
very heavy on her conscience.” 


324 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“It ought to, along with many other things.” 

“I think she’s beginning to improve a little, Tante 
Lucia.” 

“There’s room,” but she spoke with a smile that 
all but made it a compliment. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND 


THE ChAtEAU DE LA ROCHE DU ROI 

When Freedom from her mountain height 
Unfurled her standard to the air 
She tore the azure robe of night 
And set the stars of glory there. 


— Drake. 



HERE was no hesitation on the part of anybody 


X about accepting Peter’s invitation. Down they 
all came one glorious September morning; the Saintons 
— there had been no trouble at all in getting some one 
to look after the shop — the Cure, Helen, and Colette. 
Colette’s mother had demurred at first. She wondered 
if Colette was equal to so much excitement; but when 
Dr. Jones reminded her that the child was to be di- 
rectly under Peter’s eyes every minute, and that, as 
they were willing to spare Helen for the sake of the 
good time she was to have, she ought to spare Colette 
for the same good reason, she saw that he was right 
and gave her consent. For Grand-pere and Grand’- 
mere Sainton this trip to Aix seemed quite as exciting 
as a trip to Paris, and the luxuries of the Chateau in 
every way worthy of a palace. But for those truly 


326 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

palace-like structures, the Grand Cercle and the Villa 
des Fleurs, they had no use whatever, taking their 
stand with the Cure and refusing to enter their gates. 
With all other sight-seeing plans of Peter’s they fell in 
with delight. One beautiful afternoon they sailed 
across Lake Bourget and made a long visit to Haute- 
combe Abbey, a most deserted place now that monastic 
orders are no longer countenanced in France. A few 
monks, however, are left in charge to act as guides, 
and the Cure was soon on an intimate footing with one 
of them, plying him with question after question, though 
he himself really knew far more about Saint Bernard, 
the founder of the Abbey, than the man who belonged 
to the order. 

“It’s sad to have all the monks sent away, isn’t it?” 
Helen said to the Cure as their guide led the way 
toward the Abbey cross on the hill overlooking the 
lake. 

“No, I don’t think so, Helen. If they’re any good 
themselves they can be a lot more help out in the 
world.” 

“I thought a monk was always good.” 

“Some of them are and never give up trying to be 
better, but some of them are lazy or worse, and never 
try at all.” All of which much surprised Helen and 
set her staring at their guide in a way that made him 
grow very red in the face. 

The day after the visit to Hautecombe they took 
the cog-railway to the top of Mont Revard, and the 
day after that the drive up the Pussy’s Tooth (Helen’s 


THE CHATEAU DE LA ROCHE DU ROI 327 

free translation of the Dent du Chat), and so on all 
through the week. It was a relief for everybody when 
Sunday came, with nothing planned. Pierre and Col- 
ette went off with the Cure to early mass, and then 
gained permission to go with Peter and Hilaire and 
Helen to the Episcopal service. 

“You don’t mind my being a Catholic, do you, 
Peter?” Pierre questioned as they set out. 

“Bless your heart, no; at any rate, not if you take 
the Cure for your pattern.” 

“But Catholics and Protestants are very different, 
aren’t they?” 

“The best of both are more alike than different.” 

“Are you the best kind of a Protestant?” 

“I would like to be. There’s no question but that 
the Cure is the very best kind of Catholic.” 

And now they were at the church and they all filed 
into one pew, half way up the aisle. Peter felt quite 
like the father of a family, with the four children of 
varying ages strung along beside him, and he was ex- 
ceedingly proud of them. Coming in from the glare 
of the paved streets, the church seemed very restful. 
A red transparent curtain lightly swaying to and fro 
in an open window over the doorway suffused the 
shadowy interior with a cheery glow, or lighted it with 
occasional flashes of sunlight. To attend a Protestant 
service was an entirely new experience for Pierre and 
Colette, and they sat down or stood when the others 
did in a furtive, uncertain way, as though very much 
afraid of making some sort of blunder. But when a 


328 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

couple of Catholic hymns that they knew were an- 
nounced, they joined in heartily and seemed to feel 
quite at home. 

In front of them, but a little to one side, sat an 
Englishman and his son, a boy of about nine or ten. 
In a pew on a line with the children and directly next 
to Helen, sat a rather forbidding, middle-aged woman. 
She looked as though she might be a governess, and 
she suddenly proved whose governess she was by lean- 
ing forward, pulling the collar of the boy’s Eton 
jacket out from under his stiffly starched, roll-over linen 
collar, and turning it up about the boy’s neck, by way 
of protection from the breeze that was swaying the 
red curtain in such effective fashion. The boy sat like 
a statue during the proceeding, which really required 
quite a little time. He allowed a full minute to elapse 
after the governess had settled back complacently in 
her corner. Then with great deliberation he unfastened 
the bow of his tie, freeing the linen collar, rolled the 
cloth collar back into place, adjusted the linen one on 
top of it and retied the bow with all possible precision, 
never so much as glancing in the direction of the of- 
fending governess. The latter sat glaring straight 
ahead of her, with flaming cheeks not to be accounted 
for by the glow from the red curtain. 

^^Obstineef^ Pierre questioned in a whisper, giving 
Hilaire’s hand a squeeze. 

“Not for a minute. She’s a perfect ninny. He’s 
far too big a boy to be treated like that. I don’t see 
how he ever sat through it.” 


THE CHATEAU DE LA ROCHE DU ROI 329 

Hilaire does seem to understand boys, thought 
Pierre, and he also thought Hilaire’s whisper had car- 
ried as far as the governess herself, for she got up, 
crowded past the other people in the pew and flounced 
out of church. 

“She must be French,” Hilaire said under her breath. 

“Why?” whispered Pierre. 

“Don’t talk any more in church, dear.” 

Pierre guessed he’d know why the second they were 
out of it. All this happened during the reading of the 
service. From the moment the sermon commenced no 
one who could understand English thought of whis- 
pering, except Peter, just once, to impart the important 
fact that the minister was doubtless an American. 

It was an eloquent sermon on symbols, so clearly 
thought out and so clearly enunciated that even Hilaire 
and Pierre, who had made great strides with their Eng- 
lish, could understand almost every word. 

“Take the cross,” he said, toward the sermon’s end, 
and Pierre, for one, instantly took the cross on 
Mount Revard. “There it stands before the world, 
high over the Christian centuries — a pure symbol mean- 
ing a thousand different things to a thousand different 
people. It is not for me to say what the cross shall 
mean to you, or for you to say what it shall mean to 
me. The reality which lies back of the symbol is 
always greater than the symbol itself, just as a na- 
tion’s honor and pride and hopes are out of all pro- 
portion to the strip of silk which serves for the nation’s 


330 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

flag and which stands for honor and pride and hope 
and power.” 

The minister came down among the people at the 
close of the service, and Peter instantly had him by 
the hand. 

“I hope you come from my part of God’s country.” 
That they were both Americans was self-evident. 

“New York,” answered the clergyman. 

“Why, haven’t I heard of you?” 

“I’ve heard of you. Dr. Alwyn. You came mighty 
near operating on me last winter.” 

“Are you Laidlaw, by any chance?” 

The minister nodded. 

“Bless my stars. I never dreamt you were like this. 
You’re likely to have a chance to operate on me next 
winter. When do you sail?” 

“On a White Star on the 25th, from Cherbourg.” 

“Good! so do I,” and then Peter made way for 
some people who were waiting their chance for a word. 

“You liked him, didn’t you, Peter?” remarked 
Pierre as they went down the aisle. 

“Yes, at the start, but I loved him before he was 
through. I never was so stirred in all my life. The 
cross and the flag mean more to me than ever they have 
before.” 

They all talked about the sermon as they walked 
back to the Chateau side by side, with love of country 
surging high in all their hearts; all except Colette’s, 
who was actually yawning. Not understanding any 
English to speak of, she had found it rather tedious. 


THE CHATEAU DE LA ROCHE DU ROI 331 

^^Faisons une bonne promenade,^* she proposed, when 
at last she had a chance to get a word in edgewise. 
This proposal immediately suggested to Hilaire that 
they should all go home with her and feast on the 
luscious grapes that were just at their prime in her 
father’s vineyard on the hill behind their house. And, 
nothing loath, every one fell in with her suggestion. 
An old friend of ours recognized Hilaire’s voice far 
down the lane and began barking furiously, partly by 
way of greeting and partly by way of protest at the 
diminutive length of his tether. 

“Hilaire, why must she be French?” Pierre asked, 
improving the first opportunity. 

“Oh, because we French people are so flary and 
hasty and have no self-control whatever. Why couldn’t 
she have had sense enough to sit still, even if she did 
happen to hear something that was rather trying to 
listen to?” 

“You are not so very flary, Hilaire.” 

“Bless your little French heart, neither are you I” 

Meanwhile on this same radiant Sunday morning, 
the dear old Saintons and Madame Conrad and the 
Cure, seated in the garden of the Chateau just where 
the view out over the valley is finest, were engaged in 
a very earnest conversation, and even the old people’s 
cheeks were aglow with excitement. At last they 
seemed to have settled everything, and then, thoughtful 
and serious, they sat in perfect silence for a while. 
We all have times like that — times when we have had 
to decide things so momentous and far-reaching that 


332 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

we are fairly weighted down with the sense of respon- 
sibility. 

When Peter and the children returned to the Cha- 
teau to luncheon, but with any inclination they might 
have had for it entirely dissipated by their visit to the 
Durand vineyard, the concierge informed Peter that 
he was wanted in the garden and thither he went, with 
instructions to his followers to remain behind. 

“Bring a chair with you,” Grand-pere Sainton called 
out to him and, wondering what was up, Peter reached 
for one of the many little tin seats scattered through 
the garden. Swinging it into place, he sat down with 
folded arms in front of the friends who had sum- 
moned him. 

“You look as solemn as owls,” he laughed. “I am 
positively afraid of you.” 

“We feel solemn, Peter, but we’re happy just the 
same,” said Grand’mere Sainton. And then with an 
effort to control emotion she added simply, “We’ve 
decided to let you have him, Peter.” 

“Have whom?” 

“Pierre.” 

“To keep?” 

The old couple nodded. 

“We know you’d like to have him, and we know 
he’d love to go to the States with you,” Grand’mere 
Sainton explained. 

“Who told you all this?” 

“Nobody. We’ve gradually discovered it. And 
you can do such great things for him. It isn’t for 


THE CHATEAU DE LA ROCHE DU ROI 333 

us to keep him cooped up in a French village, when he 
has such a chance.” 

“But you can’t spare him. You need him. I won’t 
be so selfish as to carry him off.” 

“I don’t believe we could spare him if it wasn’t for 
the Cure.” 

“What’s the Cure got to do with it?” Peter, as you 
may have noticed, had a rather direct way of asking 
questions. 

“He has everything to do with it. He’s going to 
be a son to us himself, though he’s really been that 
for a long time. We’re going to live with him in the 
parish house. It’s a beautiful place to spend our last 
days in,” and Grand’mere Sainton’s face lighted with 
the joy of anticipation. “The sunsets are heavenly 
from there, and old folks like us set great store by 
the heavenly. It’s the house, too, where Pierre was 
born, you know.” 

“What does Pierre say to the plan?” 

“He doesn’t know, of course. We’ve only just de- 
cided.” 

“But what if I should decide not to take him? It 
will be a fearful upsetting of plans, won’t it?” As 
usual, Peter could not resist the temptation to tease 
a little. 

“Then I will take him,” said Madame Conrad, join- 
ing for the first time in the conversation. 

“You wouldn’t be allowed,” Peter said jokingly, but 
he would not have liked to own how queer the mere 
suggestion made him feel. 


334 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“Oh, yes, she would,” said Grand-pere Sainton 
firmly. “What is best for Pierre? That’s the only 
thing to be considered.” 

“I believe you,” and Peter showed the great ad- 
miration he felt. “You are just two out-and-out dear 
old saints. There is no need for any ‘on’ to your name 
at all.” Then he turned to Madame Conrad. “But 
perhaps you really ought to have him,” he said very 
ruefully. “Perhaps you could do better for him 
than I.” 

“Perhaps he would have something to say about that 
himself, and in that case I would not stand a ghost of 
a chance. Besides, I have other plans,” and now 
Madame Conrad in turn would not have cared to con- 
fess how very much she would truly have liked to have 
Pierre for her own. But to stand between Pierre and 
Peter — that was not for a moment to be thought of. 

“Would it be all right for me to know those other 
plans?” Peter asked with evident curiosity, and to his 
surprise the Cure answered. 

“Madame Conrad is coming to the parish house 
too.” 

Peter looked incredulous. 

“Yes, I am. I am going to stay with Monsieur and 
Madame Sainton as long as they live. No one in the 
world has the least claim on me, and I love them both 
dearly.” The look in the dear old people’s eyes showed 
that they returned the sentiment. 

“I think you may be another, Madame Conrad,” 
Peter ventured. 


THE CHATEAU DE LA ROCHE DU ROI 


335 


“Another what?” 

“Saint, of course, and I know the Cure is. My 
gracious, what a house full of them you’ll be.” 

“It’s a pity you can’t feel quite as sure about me as 
about the others,” laughed Madame Conrad. 

“My, what a summer this has been!” Peter said, 
speaking slowly and solemnly, shaking his head at the 
wonder of it. 

“More wonderful for me than for anybody,” Ma- 
dame Conrad replied. “Lonely and miserable for years, 
and then suddenly a little fellow rushes across my path 
and asks me to do a friendly act ‘out of courtesy.’ 
And it was just as though he had flashed a mirror 
in my face and I saw myself for the very thing I was, 
the perfect embodiment of all that was rude and dis- 
courteous and selfish. It was that that made me fly 
from Aix. Anything to get away from it all, but with 
really nothing to fly to. And then to think that the 
same little fellow, crossing my path again, changes its 
direction for all time, and changes me and changes 
everything, till now there is not a happier woman in 
all France. More than anything I own, I love this 
pendant,” and Madame Conrad grasped it as it hung 
concealed beneath her dress. “I am never without it. 
It brought us together and it seems as though it were 
really Pierre’s own gift to me.” 

“Now I’m perfectly sure, Madame Conrad, about 
your filling up the roll of those saints we were alluding 
to,” and Peter spoke earnestly enough to bring the 
color glowing gratefully into her face. “But I’m not 


336 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

at all sure but that you ought to have Pierre,” he 
added. 

“Dr. Alwyn, that point is settled. The question 
must never be raised with Pierre. There are a thou- 
sand reasons why he should go with you. First and 
foremost, his adoring love for you.” 

“It might be as well for the boy himself not to know 
he is in such demand,” observed the Cure, and nods 
of assent showed approval of the wise advice. 

“Well, if Pierre cares to go with me, and you all 
think it’s all right, it will certainly make me a much 
happier old fellow,” Peter said with a sigh from the 
lonely corner of his heart. “America, at any rate, shall 
do her level best for him, but it will be back to Chamo- 
nix for three months with you every summer, I can 
tell you, and I with him whenever I can manage it.” 

“We did not want to make any conditions,” Grand- 
pere Sainton explained, “but that’s what we hoped 
would happen. And you are to tell Pierre. Oh, yes, 
you are I It will be such a joyful telling for you, and 
it’s not certain but tears might get mixed up with it 
if it were left to us.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THIRD 


THE UNEXPECTED 

*^The past is a story told, 

The future may he writ in gold.’* 

P ETER was fairly bursting with delight over the 
two interviews ahead of him. First a talk with 
Pierre and then one with Tante Lucia, for, after care- 
ful consideration, he had decided to give her a bona- 
fide invitation to go to New York for the winter. 

After a long search and much inquiry as to his 
whereabouts, Peter surprised Pierre in a little four- 
windowed room in the very top of the tower. 

“You’re not to come up,” Pierre called out, thrust- 
ing something behind his back as Peter’s head appeared 
through the trap-door. 

“I must. It’s very important.” 

“But I’m making you a bon-voyage present; I don’t 
want you to see it.” 

“What’s the sense in doing that ” Peter paused 

just long enough for Pierre to think he was rather 
mean — “when you’re going with me?” 

Pierre stared in dumb amazement. It was too won- 
derful. And then, concluding Peter was just “running 
him,” he thought him meaner still. Peter, simply con- 
337 


338 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

vulsed over the mingling of expressions on Pierre’s 
face, roared with laughter, which Pierre thought the 
meanest thing yet. So he just took the little box he was 
carving and flung it into the corner, and tears came into 
his eyes, he was so angry. 

“Why, Pierre, boy, what is the matter with you?” 
and Peter sat down on the edge of the trap-door with 
his feet resting on the ladder. 

“The matter is I want to go so much I can’t stand 
being joked about it. You joke too much, Peter.” 

“Pm sorry I’ve made such bungling work of it. I’d 
better have let Grand’mere Sainton tell you.” That did 
not sound like joking. 

“Do you mean, Peter, that it’s been arranged that 
I should go?” 

Peter gravely shook his head. 

“And that you want me?” 

“Yes, awfully. It’s going to be perfectly great, and 
I’m not going to let you spoil all the fun of telling you. 
Go pick up my box over there, and now you tell me 
you’re sorry.” 

Pierre did as he was bid, and, recovering the little 
unfinished piece of wood-carving, sat down close beside 
Peter. Then with one hand on Peter’s shoulder, the 
other busy with the lapel of his coat, and with all at- 
tention apparently concentrated thereon, he explained 
in a rather choky voice that he was very much ashamed 
of having been so quickly made angry; and being every 
whit as lovable the while as he had been furious the min- 
ute before, he was forgiven on the spot. 


THE UNEXPECTED 


339 


“I am more than half to blame myself, I know. It 
is hard to tell when I’m in earnest. It’s a bad habit. 
You must help me to get rid of it. But nothing can 
spoil the thing itself. You really are to go to America 
with me. The Saintons take nothing into considera- 
tion but your best welfare, and they expect me to do 
most wonderful things. Give you every advantage, as 
we say in English. And they think, besides, that I 
need you.” 

“Do you?” 

“More than you can possibly imagine.” 

“But how about them, Peter?” And yet Pierre was 
smiling as he spoke, because he knew the Saintons must 
have been somehow arranged for. 

“They are to keep house for the Cure, and Madame 
Conrad is to live with them too.” 

“Oh, that will be fine for Mumsey! All she wants 
is people to love. But it’s finest of all for me,” and 
Pierre, planting a hand on each of Peter’s shoulders, 
pushed back a little, the better to look steadily at him. 
“Just think, Peter! All the time together!” And 
Peter felt then the telling really had not been in the 
least spoiled. 

They sat a long time talking over plans, until Peter 
brought all talking suddenly to an end with: 

“Come, let’s go now to Tante Lucia and -see what 
she thinks of going too.” 

“I know what she thinks, Peter. Of course, I didn’t 
tell her you were thinking of asking her, but one day 
I said, ‘What if Peter should want you to go to New 


340 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

York for a visit?’ and she just laughed and said, ‘Peter 
is too sensible ever to want anything so crazy.’ ” 

“Well, then, let’s go prove I’m stark crazy, as fast 
as ever we can,” and they fairly tumbled over each 
other as they made their way down the ladder and 
then down the stairs. 

“Wait I” commanded Pierre suddenly. “Sit right 
here till I come back. There’s somebody I must see 
before Tante Lucia. Do you know where they are?” 

“Under the big plane tree in the garden,” and Peter 
obediently sat down on the stairs, to wait patidntly as 
long as Pierre might see fit. He liked his thoughtful- 
ness, for of course the Saintons ought to come first 
with Pierre. 

They were chatting away, sitting on their favorite 
seat; Pierre stole up from behind, put an arm around 
each of them and his face right In between theirs, giv- 
ing first one and then the other a resounding kiss. 

**Bienr* said Grand’mere Sainton, smiling out of the 
corner of her eye. 

“What do you think of It?” asked Grand-pere Sain- 
ton, placing his own hand over Pierre’s as it lay on his 
shoulder. 

“Oh, It’s so wonderful I can hardly think at all. It 
isn’t that I love Peter more, you know. I love you all 
three as much as ever I can. But to go to America and 
to see the world, and see It all with Peter,” and then 
he drew both heads still closer to his own. “I’m going 
now to tell Tante Lucia and Mumsey and everybody 
I can find. It’s such fun to tell It I And then I’m com- 


THE UNEXPECTED 


341 


Ing right back to be with you every minute till ” 

and then he could not bring himself to say it and ran 
away. 

“Just like him/’ murmured Grand’mere Sainton. 

“What did you say?” muttered Grand-pere Sainton. 
Neither understood what the other had said and they 
were feeling too deeply to care. 

“Well, here I am back again I” called Pierre to 
Peter, rushing up the first flight of stairs three steps at 
a time. “Thank you for waiting. Come on.” 

They found Tante Lucia in the loveliest sort of a 
negligee that Mary Harter had ordered for her from 
the finest shop in Aix as a farewell gift. Franciline 
was still busy bustling around the room, and Peter told 
her as they entered there was no need for her to leave. 
Pierre was anxious, too, that she should stay. The 
quicker every one heard the wonderful thing that had 
happened to him, the better. 

“What do you suppose, Tante Lucia,” he cried, 
bounding on to the bed, as he knew how to do without 
disturbing her, and drawing one hand into both of his, 
“what do you suppose? I am going to New York to 
live with Peter.” And Tante Lucia, to his great de- 
light, was so surprised she could not utter a word. 
“Yes, I am. Pm really going and it’s all right for 
me to go. Grand-pere and Grand’mere Sainton say 
I must. They’re going to live with the Cure. Every- 
thing’s been arranged. Did you ever hear of anything 
like it?” 

“No, I never did ! But does Peter really want you ?” 


342 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

“Oh, yes I Pm perfectly sure about that,” so much 
in earnest himself as to take everything seriously. “And 

he wants ” but Peter brought him to a halt with 

a very peremptory look. He proposed to do his own 
inviting. 

“Whatever Peter wants, I hope Peter will get.” 

“This time it all depends upon you,” Peter an- 
swered. “It’s an invitation.” 

Tante Lucia shook her head. 

“No more invitations for me. When I move back 
to my little room under the pergola, there I shall stay.” 

“But first, Tante Lucia, I want to move you to my 
home in New York.” 

“Dr. Peter Alwyn,” she said very slowly, “you’re 
as crazy as you are kind. I said the same to Pierre 
the other day, when he asked me what if you should 
want me to go home with you. I never dreamt you 
were at the back of it. I thought it was just his child- 
foolishness.” 

“But what if I could prove it wasn’t a crazy plan, 
but perfectly easy and practical? What then?” 

“I’d accept with pleasure, of course, but you couldn’t 
prove it.” 

“Begging your pardon. Monsieur,” Franciline in- 
terrupted, “if Tante Lucia goes to America, and Mon- 
sieur would permit, I should very much like to go too, 
to care for her,” and then blushed as red as a peony 
at her boldness, while Tante Lucia looked at her very 
reprovingly. But Peter only said: 

“Exactly, Franciline. That’s in the plan. Sit down 


THE UNEXPECTED 


343 


and listen while I explain the whole thing to Tante 
Lucia.” And Franciline sat down literally “wreathed 
in smiles,” as somebody once happily said somewhere. 
As far as she was concerned it was all settled from the 
first, and it was delicious to watch Tante Lucia gradu- 
ally become settled. 

Peter succeeded in proving to her perfect satisfaction 
that, although she could no longer walk, she was other- 
wise in fine condition. The paralysis which had come 
from shock was not likely to be followed by any other 
attack, and just because she could not move about she 
naturally would enjoy seeing things more than ever. 
The train from Aix would take them straight through 
to Paris, and a second train right on to Cherbourg. 
Once on board the steamer, it would be the simplest 
matter in the world to be moved out on to the deck 
from her deck stateroom. And how she would revel 
in the ocean and in breathing the rare salt air. And 
how she would enjoy gazing far off to the horizon and 
dreaming away about that Other World of hers, lying 
somewhere beyond it. And an old friend of his would 
be on the steamer, an English sailor, David by name. 
Indeed, that was the reason they were sailing on this 
particular steamer, and he could just see David look- 
ing after Tante Lucia morning, noon, and night. Then 
the Jones’s, fortunately, had been able to book for the 
same sailing, and the minister they had heard that 
morning — a splendid fellow — would be on board. She 
could see for herself what a splendid party it would 
be. Then, when they reached New York, one lift into 


344 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

a big Packard car, and then home to a great, three- 
windowed room overlooking Central Park. After that, 
whenever so inclined, down in the elevator and away 
for a ride of miles and miles in the car, with all the 
interest thrown in of seeing a new country and new 
people. And then in the late spring they would all 
hands come trooping back to Aix. And “all hands,” 
he explained, was also to include Alexandre, who could 
be very useful on the journey and whom Messieurs les 
Proprietaires were willing to spare to Peter as butler 
for the coming winter. All this, if she would consent 
to go. 

“You see, the good time of a lot of people is really 
depending upon you,” Peter concluded. 

“Dr. Peter Alwyn,” and Tante Lucia spoke as de- 
liberately and solemnly as she had spoken before, 
“nothing could keep me at home, although I can see 
it is going to be fearfully expensive for you.” 

“Oh, that’s all right, Tante Lucia. It’s the bounden 
duty and the downright privilege of bachelors to be ex- 
travagant now and then, in the interests of other peo- 
ple, having no one but themselves to care for so much 
of the time.” 

“Why, so it is I” with charming naivete. “I had not 
thought that before.” 

The news of this wonderful scheme spread fast. 
Pierre did everything in his power to spread it. He 
was everywhere at once, proclaiming it in the language 
best suited to his listeners. 

“You don’t mind my being so glad, do you?” he 


THE UNEXPECTED 


345 


found time to run down to the garden and Inquire of 
the Saintons. ‘‘You see everything makes me glad. 
It’s so great of you to let me go, and so great of Peter 
to take me I But I wouldn’t even think of It, remember 
I wouldn’t. If you were not going to be so happy with 
the Cure, or If I were not coming home In the spring.” 
And, although speaking In French, Pierre used the Eng- 
lish word home. Then he lingered a few minutes to 
tell them In a joyous way just a little of what he ex- 
pected to find on the other side of the water. He had 
often had long talks with Peter. Nothing In France 
at all like It. And so, somehow, he succeeded In glad- 
dening their kind old hearts as he had a genius for 
gladdening, and right In the face, too, of his almost 
immediate departure. This was Tuesday, and the 
steamer would touch at Cherbourg on Saturday. It 
meant a great deal of scurry and bustle, but the Sain- 
tons were responsible, for It had taken them a few days 
to summon the courage to announce their decision even 
after they had themselves decided that Pierre ought to 
go with Peter. 

“We couldn’t take Hilaire, could we?” Pierre had 
asked at one stage of the proceedings, feeling that 
Peter’s hospitable Intentions and his pocketbook were 
alike inexhaustible. 

“Not this time, Pierre. I’d rather not kidnap two 
children In one season. But sometime. If you like It 
out there with me, we’ll take her back with us for a 
visit.” 

“If I like It out there with you ? I wish you wouldn’t 


346 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

say such things, Peter. Don’t you know I’m going be- 
cause I’m sure?” and Peter, having deliberately pro- 
voked this little outburst, had an anticipated gladden- 
ing of heart on his own account. 

Shortly after he had a gladdening that he had not 
anticipated, but of a kind that made him rather solemn 
and thoughtful for hours afterward. 

He was sitting drinking In all the beauty of the view 
from the Chateau garden, knowing how wistfully he 
would sometimes recall It In the oncoming rush of the 
winter, when Madame Conrad joined him. 

“I have been looking for you. Dr. Alwyn,” she said, 
having set her face from the first against the almost 
universal “Peter.” “I have something Important to 
tell you,” taking the chair offered her. “You know, 
perhaps, that my lawyer has been to see me frequently 
lately?” Peter nodded. “As you may have Imagined, 
I have been making my will. It’s serious business, isn’t 
it? I never made one before. I’ve always been ex- 
pecting to, but the accident has made me feel I’d better 
be about It. I would like you to be one of my execu- 
tors.” 

Peter was eager to assure her that he very much ap- 
preciated the honor. 

“Well, then,” she said with a sigh of relief, “I want 
to tell you what Is In It. Indeed, I should have told 
you In any case, only It must be a secret. You will not 
be surprised to hear, perhaps, that I have made Pierre 
my heir.” 


THE UNEXPECTED 


347 

“Not your sole heir, Madame Conrad?” for Peter 
knew she had inherited great wealth. 

“Well, not exactly my sole heir. I think you will 
think it a better arrangement. In the first place I want, 
just as soon as it can be arranged, to give him an annual 
allowance that will cover all his expenses for the next 
ten years.” 

“But that is rather taking things out of my hands, 
isn’t it?” 

“You must not mind. You are giving him his home 
and you must allow me this pleasure, since you are to 
have some pleasures which I cannot share.” 

“Madame Conrad!” Peter exclaimed impulsively, 
“Pierre is yours by every right. Pm not going to take 
him.” 

“What could I do. I’d like to know, with a broken- 
hearted boy? What I do want is to have him grow up 
with all the advantages of a country that will make 
him, when he is grown, as nearly like you as possible. 
And now, please do me the favor not to raise any 
further question about Pierre, else you may put my 
new sainthood to too much of a test. This is what I 
mean by not making Pierre my sole heir. I am setting 
aside quite a large sum of money,” Madame Conrad 
named the amount and Peter stared at her in amaze- 
ment. “It will be very much larger by the time Pierre 
comes of age. Would it be possible to have him edu- 
cated along lines that will fit him, when the right time 
comes, to make a study of some of the crying needs 
of your country across the sea and of his native France 


348 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

and mine, so that he will prove a wise almoner of the 
fund when he comes to his majority? It need not inter- 
fere with his profession. He tells me there is nothing 
in life for him but to be a surgeon.” 

“Perfectly possible,” answered Peter, deeply stirred 
by the far-reaching wisdom of the plan, “and I believe 
from my heart there is that in Pierre that will make 
him rejoice in such an opportunity. But would you 
not like the joy of giving this money away yourself?” 

She shook her head. 

“That joy will really be mine if I live till Pierre 
comes of age. Meanwhile, I know the joy of bequeath- 
ing that joy to him. Of course, I have made ample 
provision besides, so that he will not be dependent 
upon his profession.” 

“Well, it’s a very wonderful scheme, Madame Con- 
rad. As for Pierre, I don’t recall any young person 
in any fairy tale half so fortunate. But it needn’t spoil 
him if we manage rightly. Did you think you would 
tell him?” 

“I should say there is enough excitement for the 
present. It seems better to me to write him when he 
is in America, telling him all about it in a letter that 
he can keep.” 

“That’s very wise — for a saint,” Peter added, by 
way of a little let-up from the general seriousness. 
“Sometimes saints haven’t very much sense. You know 
Nicolette, for whom you are named, was by many 
deemed very foolish.” 

“She was an angel straight from heaven,” said 


THE UNEXPECTED 


349 

Madame Conrad warmly. “I have no right to her 
name whatever. Have you ever read her life?” 

Peter acknowledged that he had not. 

“Then please read it. Pve just finished it. If I had 
read it long ago I should have been a very different 
woman. She was just as great in her way, in her 
hand-to-hand fight with wrong, as Joan of Arc in hers. 
They met one day when Joan, mounted on a war-horse, 
in steel armor, was riding at the head of her besieging 
army. ’Colette was trudging along on foot in the 
coarse robe of her sisterhood with her leather pouch 
attached to her girdle. There must have been a rare 
exchange of greetings. Each knew the other was 
bravely going forth on the special mission to which 
she had been called by the voices heard in her long 
hours of meditation.” 

“That’s very interesting,” but Peter was thinking 
that he had never seen such a change in any one in all 
his life. 

“I’ll lend you the book. It will do you good too. 
I’m going to tell it all to little Colette some day. If 
only some one had told it to me when I was little ! But 
we have something even more important than Saint 
Colette to talk about. Dr. Alwyn. There are many 
matters about which I wish to consult you.” 

They talked on until dark, and both Madame Con- 
rad and Peter would have told you that it was the most 
interesting conversation either of them had ever had 
with anybody. They felt they might almost be set- 
tling the affairs of nations, for if Pierre lived to grow 


350 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

up and follow the instructions that were to be carefully 
worked out for him in the meantime, some great things 
were bound to happen that would go far toward mak- 
ing the world a better place to live in. 

And two other people talked on until dark, three, 
in fact, only one just listened and not very well at that. 
Perhaps the crowning joy in all Pierre’s “telling” was 
confiding the great news to Helen. He had as much 
trouble to find her as Peter had had to find him, for 
she had taken Colette with her out on to the flat roof 
of the Chateau, and there in one corner, seated on a 
rug and screened from the setting sun by one of the 
four gilded domes, she was teaching her a new stitch 
in crochet. Close beside them stood a roomy Aix bas- 
ket, the customary red worsted cherries ornamenting 
its sides, and heaped high with the wool for the af- 
ghan. This was Helen’s contribution toward a gift 
which was to be completed by Christmas. Colette’s 
cheeks were crimson, for could anything be more ex- 
citing than commencing an afghan for Grand’mere 
Sainton! But it seemed that something could. 

Having discovered them at last, Pierre burst on to 
the roof, the embodiment of an excitement that threw 
all other excitements into the shade. 

“What’s the most wonderful thing that could happen 
to me?” he demanded eagerly. 

“Pm sure I don’t know,” Helen drawled out. She 
had an aggravating way of pluming herself on being 
calm when anybody else seemed excited, just as though 
there were not a time for excitement just as well as for 



“‘what's the most wonderful thing that could happen to me?”’ 

Page S 50 



THE UNEXPECTED 


351 


calmness. Besides, she could be as excited as anybody 
else if she chanced to be the most interested party. 

“Well, it’s happened,” Pierre drawled out in imita- 
tion of her. “That’s all,” and he darted away as 
abruptly as he had come. 

“Pierre Arnaud, come back here this minute and tell 
me,” came a command that was two-thirds entreaty. 
Partly conciliated, Pierre paused. 

“Think, can’t you, Helen?” He wanted her to try 
to guess because he thought she couldn’t. Helen con- 
descended to do a little honest thinking, and she real- 
ized she had best be quick about it. 

“Well, seeing that Peter’s going away so soon, I 
suppose the most wonderful thing that could happen 
would be for you to go too.” 

“That’s what it is,” and, as Helen’s surprise meas- 
ured fully up to his expectations, he recrossed the roof 
and flung himself down on the rug. Having inten- 
tionally guessed the most improbable thing imaginable, 
Helen’s breath was literally taken away by the fact 
that she had guessed right. When she recovered it 
she began at once to hold forth with fervid enthusiasm 
on the charms and wonders of her native land, plainly 
foreshadowing the patronizing way in which she would 
delight in showing Pierre the sights. And Pierre gave 
her his undivided attention, and listened with many a 
thrill. Colette just half listened. Getting under head- 
way with the afghan was far more important to her, 
and she succeeded in compelling Helen’s attention often 
enough to achieve her end. It is a fortunate thing for 


352 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

all of us that the thing we have in hand is often so ab- 
sorbing as to leave us no time to meditate on the pos- 
sibly superior privileges of other people. So it hap- 
pened that it was almost dark when the three of them 
started downstairs to get ready for dinner. 

Pierre passed Peter coming in from out of doors 
and thought he looked at him rather queerly. And he 
did. In fact, Peter stood stock-still and simply stared 
at him. To think of that youngster coming in to all 
that property! Well, all the more did it devolve upon 
him to make the right sort of man of him. It was a 
pretty big responsibility. And then Peter fell to won- 
dering what the letter would be like that Madame Con- 
rad was to send over-seas to her heir in America. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOURTH 


GOING HOME 

Bright Hag at yonder tapering mast. 
Fling out your held of azure blue; 

Let star and stripe he westward cast, 
And point as Freedom’s eagle hew! 
Strain home! O lithe and quivering spars! 
Point home, my country’s hag of stars! 


— N. P. Willis. 



HE last days in the Chateau were very busy ones 


X for everybody except the Saintons. Their pack- 
ing would require but a brief half hour, when once they 
set about it, and meanwhile, they confessed to each 
other, they seemed to have too much time to think — 
the one thought uppermost by night and day being the 
parting with Pierre. They longed to have it over 
with, and be back at work in the little shop. The Cure 
divined as much. For that matter, he had a few long- 
ings of his own; and he felt he had been away from 
his parish quite long enough. 

“Suppose we just take it into our heads to start 
up and go back to Chamonix to-morrow,” he suggested 
to the old people, whom he found sunning themselves 
on the terrace at the end of the garden. “Then, you 


353 


354 little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

see, we would let the others be the ones to be left be- 
hind.” 

“Do you think they would mind?” Grand’mere Sain- 
ton questioned eagerly. “We really are getting home- 
sick, for some reason.” 

“Bless you, so am 1. The reason is not far to find. 
That rascal Pierre’s at the bottom of it. Let’s go 
home and ‘get busy,’ as Peter says.” 

The plan met with approval on every hand. Even 
little Colette welcomed the news that they were going 
to return sooner than they expected. She had been 
thinking a great deal of her mother and feeling rather 
queerly, but did not know what was the matter. The 
idea that it might be best for them to be the first to 
go had also occurred to Peter, but he hesitated to pro- 
pose it for fear they would prefer to remain to say 
good-by. So the next day saw the departure of the 
Chamonix party from the Aix station, with the excep- 
tion of Madame Conrad, who Intended to stay in Aix 
as long as there was any Pierre to stay near to. Grand’- 
mere Sainton and Colette carried two huge bouquets, 
Peter’s farewell gift, and everybody was trying his best 
to keep It from being a mournful parting. Two car- 
loads, of donkeys, side-tracked just outside the station, 
lent considerable aid In this direction. You never heard 
anything so outlandish and at the same time so funny 
as the noise they kept up. It was almost impossible 
to think within earshot of them, or keep a serious 
face if you tried to speak. But It’s one thing to carry 
off a parting with a brave show, another to keep up 


GOING HOME 


355 

the show when the parting is over. And the people 
left behind do, as a rule, have the worst of it. The 
second the train cleared the station, Pierre turned on 
his heel and started away without so much as a “by 
your leave” to anybody, and did not turn up at the 
Chateau for an hour afterward. Peter loved him for 
it, glad that he understood there are some things one 
would best have out by oneself. He would never for- 
give Pierre if he ever let anybody take the place of 
those dear old Saintons in his heart. That Pierre 
never would he felt perfectly sure. 

Madame Conrad and Peter and Hilaire walked 
slowly up the Avenue de la Gare side by side, looking 
pretty serious and not saying much to each other. The 
good-byes just said hinted of good-byes to come on the 
morrow. At the Grand Hotel Madame Conrad left 
them. Madame Renard had been moved there two 
or three days previously, and Madame Conrad, who 
was trying to help her one-time friend to a better idea 
of life, had taken a room next to hers. She had ar- 
ranged so that she should not have to go back to the 
Chateau after Pierre had gone out of it. Hilaire hur- 
ried over to the market, every whit as eager as the 
Saintons to get back to work. Peter strolled alone 
through the streets up the hill to the Chateau. He 
looked wistfully about him, for he loved the spotless 
little city and everything peculiar to its life. Even 
the bath-chairs being carried to and fro had a fasci- 
nation for him. As he nodded to one and another of 
the carriers whom he knew, he heartily wished all the 


356 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

winter’s work were over and done with, and he was 
back in one of those chairs himself that minute, trund- 
ling along to all the rubbing and tubbing of the 
Ltablissement Thermal. 

Up at the Chateau there was the dreary air of a 
house about to be closed, but Tante Lucia’s spirits ap- 
parently rose higher and higher. The very look of 
things made her realize how wonderful it was to be 
going instead of staying. And then it was so fine to be 
so cared for by everybody. 

“Really, Peter, at my age,” she confided one day, 
“it isn’t so bad not to be running about, though I’m 
ashamed to own it, it sounds so lazy.” And the beauty 
of it was that not running about seemed to agree with 
her perfectly. 

The sun shone on the departure of the steamer 
party. With the Jones’s and Tante Lucia and Peter 
and Pierre and Alexandre and Franciline there were 
eight of them all told, and there were as many to 
see them off. Tante Lucia’s nephews, les proprietaires, 
were there, the Durands, and Madame Bovaird, knit- 
ting away, her constant jerking at the ball of Angora 
wool in a big pocket at her side making it frisk about 
in a manner as lively as an Angora kitten in a covered 
basket. Madame Conrad and Hilaire kept close to 
each other. A fellow feeling as to the lonely days 
ahead of them made them wondrous kind. Tante 
Lucia’s move to the train was accomplished in expert 
fashion and completely banished all dread as to future 
moves. 


GOING HOME 


357 

The actual good-byes were carried off in as brave 
a fashion as those of the day before, barring an intima- 
tion of tears in one or two cases (notably Hilaire’s 
and Pierre’s), and one downright little sob, just one, 
for which Madame Conrad was responsible when she 
felt Pierre’s arms about her neck and heard his whis- 
pered, “Adieu, adieu, you dear Mumsey.” 

The party in the station waved vigorously and the 
party in the carriages, crowding to the windows, waved 
back. Then the train grew to a dot in the distance. 

“Promise you won’t go up to Chamonix for a few 
days,” Hilaire entreated. “Another good-by just now 
would kill me.” And Madame Conrad, believing it, 
stopped and telegraphed to the Cure that she would 
remain a little longer in Aix unless needed. “That’s 
very good of you,” Hilaire said gratefully. 

“It is rather good of me, isn’t it? I hardly know 
myself these days. How horrid I used to be, and really 
I am quite nice now, am I not?” 

“You’re adorable,” and Hilaire gave Madame Con- 
rad’s arm a good squeeze. 

The steamer party was a prety silent party for a 
time. Nobody seemed inclined to say a word to any- 
body. Some would have failed if they had tried. Peter 
and Pierre each held a lavender-colored box, a gift 
from Hilaire, pushed into their hands at the last mo- 
ment. Pierre took a peep into his. All just as elab- 
orately embroidered as Peter’s, and he felt, so big was 
the lump in his throat, that he should never again need 
anything but a handkerchief. 


358 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

The passage of the train into new scenes, however, 
began at last to take effect, and Helen, who had com- 
menced to talk to Pierre in low tones about America, 
was asked by Tante Lucia to speak a little louder. Soon 
Franciline and Alexandre were listening, too, and 
Helen, never more in her element than when imparting 
information, grew eloquent and indulged in quite a 
little harmless exaggeration. Peter and Doctor and 
Mrs. Jones were in the adjoining compartment, and 
now that their faces were turned homeward, they soon 
fell to talking of their native land and of plans for the 
coming year with as much enthusiasm as Helen’s; all 
of which was as it should be. It is the forward look 
that saves the day. And when the forward look is 
over for this world the great-souled people simply send 
it out on a voyage of discovery to the next. 

It is a long journey from Aix to Cherbourg, but they 
broke it by stopping over night at Paris, and the follow- 
ing day at five o’clock reached their destination. They 
were soon on board the tender, the much be-patched, 
blue-jean porters taking a wonderful interest in getting 
Tante Lucia comfortably fixed. Peter’s young friends, 
the little urchins of the sea-wall, shrieked with delight 
when they recognized him, and instantly new, glittering 
centimes began flashing thrpugh the air. Some of the 
more expert of the number succeeded in catching them 
on the fly. 

The towering black sides of the ocean liner loomed 
mountain-high to Tante Lucia in her helplessness, and 
her courage waned for the first time. 


GOING HOME 


359 

“I hardly think I should have come,” she said, a 
strange pallor in her face. 

“Do you see that sailor-man waving his hand up 
there?” was Peter’s answer. 

“Oh, yes, I see!” 

“Well, that’s my friend David, and the moment the 
gangplank is in place, he’ll be the first down it with 
three or four other sailors to keep him company, all 
with their sea-legs on. And they’ll carry you up that 
gangplank just as you are in your chair, as easily as 
flies mount a wall. Never you fear, Xante Lucia,” and 
straightway the color came back into the dear old face. 
When some people say, “Never you fear,” you instantly 
do as they tell you. 

If ever there was a jubilant man it was David, when 
he had Peter safe on board. They could not get away 
from the tender fast enough to suit him. Not till they 
were well out at sea could he banish the feeling that 
Peter might somehow or other elude him. That was 
because he set more store by this week with him than 
by all the other weeks of the year put together. When 
anything is so precious we can hardly believe it is ours ; 
what wonder we tremble for fear it should give us the 
slip I 

The first day out Peter was in David’s company 
every possible minute. Toward evening they stood 
near the bow, side by side, leaning against the rail. 

“I love this having the sunset ahead of us,” said 
Peter. 

“Home’s home,” answered David, understanding, 


36 o little PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

and then he added jubilantly, “I see you’re not going 
to let them make any difference, Sir.” 

“What, the party?” David nodded. “Never you 
fear. This is our week, David, yours and mine.” 

“It’s wonderful. Doctor,” and David shook his head 
gravely, “what a lot of room there is in your heart. 
You don’t seem to care any less for me, for all the 
crowd you’ve picked up since I saw you. It wouldn’t 
be so, I fancy, if you had a family.” 

“Oh, yes, it would. Every one I care for has his 
own corner. But I don’t mind telling you ‘There’s one 
room,’ David, ‘where no one enters but myself alone. 
There sits a blessed memory on a throne. There my 
life centers.’ ” 

“It sounds like poetry, sir,” looking far off to the 
horizon. 

“It is, David,” and then neither of them spoke for 
a long time. No one that ever lived could be more 
understanding than this seafaring man. David was 
the first to break the silence. 

“I must go now, sir,” he said regretfully. 

“It will be your fault if I ever lose sight of you, 
David.” Peter did not turn as he spoke. Still look- 
ing off to the horizon, he was thinking of a kind of 
caring that knows no horizon line. 

It was David’s turn now to say, “Never you fear.” 
David had to go because Helen was making frantic 
signs to him. She had most of the first cabin children 
in her train, and he knew it was a story that was 
wanted. So he beckoned them to come on, taking his 


GOING HOME 


361 

seat flat on the deck in the very point of the bow with 
his back toward the sea. The vessel’s prow was cutting 
its foaming way like a knife-edge through the water 
aglow with the sunset. Quickly the children disposed 
themselves, also flat on the deck, in a wedge-shaped 
group about him, and the story was under way. You 
see it was David’s business to make himself useful to 
the passengers, and no passengers were as important 
in his eyes as the children. He would have had many 
more shillings to show for a voyage if he had made 
himself more time-serving with those who would re- 
member at its end to compensate him. 

Almost all of David’s stories were marvelous tales 
of the sea. There seemed to be no end to them, and 
sometimes he would tell them seated close by Tante 
Lucia’s chair. When he did, there would frequently 
be a privileged fringe of passengers listening, outside 
the inner group of children. Indeed, most of the time 
Tante Lucia was the center of attraction, and by night 
as well as day, for bundled up in rugs she loved to lie 
back in her wheel chair right out under the stars until 
sent to bed by her doctor’s orders. Besides, sometimes 
at night there was wonderful singing on the lower deck, 
and it fairly broke her heart to miss a note of it. 

There had been one delightful addition to Peter’s 
party, the minister to whom they had all lost their 
hearts that morning in the church at Aix. Peter had 
at once looked him up before they were out of the Cher- 
bourg harbor, and he was proving, as Peter had felt 
sure he would, the best sort of a companion. He was 


362 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

the sort of man who “prowls and prowls around” in 
search of the interesting, and being on the lookout for 
it, he usually found it. One of his discoveries was a 
big, fine-looking Welsh policeman in the steerage, on 
his way to visit a sister in America, and with a voice 
that would have landed him in grand opera but for a 
very decided preference for his own calling. It was 
the minister who had induced him to give a sort of 
nightly concert on the lower deck. And it was the 
minister who nightly wheeled Tante Lucia’s chair (to 
the poorly concealed annoyance of Alexandre) to the 
exact spot midships by the rail, from which she could 
both see and hear to the best advantage. There were 
many hymns on the policeman’s program, his own 
choice seeming to lie in that direction. The two prime 
favorites were “Jesus, Lover of My Soul” and “Rock 
of Ages.” Catholic and Protestant begged for them 
over and over again, with equal fervor. As the won- 
derful words rang out in the blue-black of the night in 
a voice that had a thrill of heaven in it, with the water 
falling away from the ship’s sides keeping up a run- 
ning accompaniment, there was something like Heaven 
for a while, at least, in the hearts of those who listened. 
Sometimes the audience joined in singing some familiar 
strain, but by tacit consent sang softly so that that in- 
comparable voice might ever be in the lead. 

As might have been expected, Helen and Pierre made 
friends with that Welsh policeman the morning after 
the first night they heard him sing. Helen wrote him 
a note, which Pierre also signed, and sent it by David, 


GOING HOME 


363 

and then David arranged for them to get together in 
an unfrequented part of the lower deck. The children 
learned a great deal about the administration of justice 
in a Welsh town, and the policeman heard many re- 
markable and on the whole pretty reliable tales about 
the new country for which he was bound. 

Xante Lucia made the minister teach her the words 
of the two favorite hymns. A fellow passenger of- 
fered to lend her a French hymn-book, but she would 
have none of it. She said she wanted them always to 
ring in her soul in English, just as she had first heard 
them. Indeed, everything went so delightfully with 
Peter and Peter’s party that he began to feel sorry 
for one man on board who was much by himself and 
who, he saw, was constantly taking pains to avoid him. 
On a gray, rather dreary afternoon the man sat alone 
looking very forlorn and Peter, taking advantage of 
an opportunity when no one was within hearing dis- 
tance, decided to speak to him. The man turned his 
head away as he saw Peter approaching. “Let’s be 
friends,” said Peter, dropping his copy of the Itinera 
Alpina in the man’s lap as he spoke, “I thought you 
might like to borrow it.” 

“Thank you, sir,” the man said surlily, glancing at 
the title and looking very ill at ease. 

“I’m rather ashamed of putting up that little game 
on you that morning in the shop at Chamonix,” Peter 
added. 

“I’m not sure but I deserved it,” the man mumbled. 

“I’m sure then,” said Peter provoked that he should 


364 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

not show even enough courtesy to rise from his steamer 
chair; “they are great friends of mine, those two old 
people who keep the store, and you were not very 
courteous.” 

The man looked as though he would like to eat 
Peter up, but how could he with that coveted book in 
his hand? Nothing was farther from his thought, 
however, than to offer any sort of an apology, as Peter 
had done, or even to meet him half-way, but he did 
have the grace to answer that he would take good care 
of the rare little volume! 

“Peter’s customer” had, of course, been recognized 
the first day out, and Helen and Pierre, who had been 
watching Peter’s encounter from afar, joined him as 
soon as he turned away. 

“What’s he like? Has he improved any?” Pierre 
asked eagerly. 

“Not a bit. He bears me just as much of a grudge 
as ever, notwithstanding I asked him to be friends.” 

“You didn’t, Peter!” 

“Oh, yes, I did. He’s such a miserable, lonely old 
fellow, and we’re such a happy crowd.” 

“It’s a pity that kind can’t be operated on,” said 
Pierre after a pause, “isn’t it, Peter?” 

“An awful pity. I would like to perform the opera- 
tion myself. It would have to be heroic, but if he 
didn’t die of anger it would probably be the making 
of him.” 

So Peter’s kindness had come to naught. But one 
good thing had been accomplished. The man who had 


GOING HOME 365 

determined to get even with that “fool doctor” before 
the voyage was over changed his mind. 

And so the days on board the steamer fared on in 
one way and another, with much sunshine and no dense 
fog to set pulses beating with apprehension, until at 
last there were three thousand miles behind them. 

Late in the afternoon of the last day of the voyage 
Peter was taking his constitutional — ten times around 
the deck — with Pierre, who was trying to take as long 
strides as Peter and not succeeding very well. Pres- 
ently Pierre noticed a school of porpoises in the offing, 
and they settled themselves comfortably against the 
ship’s rail to watch them, but the porpoises kept too 
far away to prove in the least interesting. Still they 
stood there. Finally Peter said: 

“Well, Pierre, it won’t be long now before we start 
in on our new life together. This time to-morrow, 
when we’re steaming up the bay, you must stick close 
to my side every minute. It’s a stunning harbor. I 
want to be the one to tell you about it.” Then after 
a second’s pause he added, “I hope we are old enough 
friends by this time to suit you.” 

“Only three months!” with a sigh. 

“Why measure by time? Into my home and into 
my life, ‘in sickness and in health, for better, for worse, 
till death do us part,’ as they say when people get mar- 
ried — that ought to satisfy you.” 

“I don’t like that ‘till death do us part,” said Pierre, 
with a shiver. 

“It’s only to show it is to be a lifetime arrangement. 


366 LITTLE PIERRE AND BIG PETER 

And that’s what I would like it to be. But it won’t. 
You’ll be off to college one of these days, and, once 
away, there’s no telling.” 

“Oh, I’ll surely come back, Peter I By that time 
you’ll be getting old, and ” 

“And will need to be taken care of?” Peter inter- 
rupted. “Well, perhaps I There’s no telling about 
that, either. It’s very kind of you, in any case.” 

“I wasn’t going to say that at all, Peter. I was going 
to say I should think you might be getting old enough 
by then for me,” and Pierre paused to recall a phrase 
he had heard Peter use, “for me to step into your 
practice,” he added, proud to have remembered. 

Peter succeeded in keeping a straight face. 

“Easiest thing in the world to crowd me out, I assure 
you.” 

Pierre looked troubled. It was not always the 
easiest thing in the world to understand Peter. 

“What do you mean, ‘crowd you out’?” 

“Oh, lay me on the shelf. Young America thinks 
it the best thing to do with old people.” 

Still mystified, Pierre said earnestly: 

“I wouldn’t do anything you wouldn’t like to have 
me do, Peter.” 

“Bless your heart, I know you wouldn’t. When did 
you decide you would like to try to be a surgeon, 
Pierre?” 

“I can tell you the minute. It was when I was stoop- 
ing over out in the field gathering up those things that 
belonged to her. I said to myself, half out loud, T am 


GOING HOME 


367 

going to be a surgeon,’ but it was all so still and so soon 
after the accident that my own voice frightened me. 
Of course, what made me make up my mind right then, 
forever, was seeing the wonderful things you were 
doing for everybody. And now to think I am going to 
America, where I can go to the same school and the 
same college — I can, can’t I? — and study in all the 
same places ! And, Peter, if I watch you very closely 
for a great many years, don’t you think I could be a 
surgeon just like you some day?” 

“Of course, you can, and, Pierre, you are the veriest 
wizard. There isn’t much you haven’t found out about 
me — my faults, my virtues, even my innermost desires ; 
for do you suppose that anything in all the world could 
give me more satisfaction than to have you follow right 
in my footsteps? It will be like having a boy of my 
own.” 

“Well, isn’t that what I am, Peter?” 

Peter didn’t answer. Pierre, knowing why, slipped 
his hand into Peter’s coat pocket, because Peter’s hand 
was already there. 


END 


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